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CHINA   BfCJNTING  AT   DAIST   FARM. 


THE  CHINA  HUNTERS  CLUB 


f/7 

BY 


THE  YOUNGEST  MEMBER 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 
FRANKLIN    SQUARE 


9»f 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1878,  by 

Harper   &   Brothers, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


S     iol 


INTRODUCTORY. 

<2  

i 

It  was  a  charming  idea  to  make  a  book  like  this,  in  which  the  romance 
of  domestic  potteries  in  New  England  homes  serves  to  illustrate  the  history 
of  Ceramic  Art  in  connection  with  the  early  use  of  its  products  in  America. 

I  have  been  requested  to  introduce  the  volume  with  testimony  to  the  genu- 
ine character  of  the  specimens  illustrated  and  described,  and  the  trustworthy 
nature  of  the  information  given  in  connection  with  them.  It  is  a  sincere 
pleasure  to  comply  with  this  request ;  for  the  little  book  contains  a  large 
amount  of  valuable  information  not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and  which  lovers 
of  old  pottery  and  its  associations,  like  myself,  have  in  vain  sought  hereto- 
fore to  obtain.  What  kinds  of  china  and  pottery  our  grandmothers  used, 
how  far  the  short  but  wonderful  history  of  Ceramic  Art  in  England  is  ex- 
emplified in  American  houses,  these  and  kindred  questions  have  great  inter- 
est.    The  China  Hunters  Club  has  done  much  toward  answering  them. 

I  have  had  opportunities  from  time  to  time,  during  the  past  two  years,  of 
seeing  each  of  the  specimens  here  illustrated  and  many  of  those  described. 
Some  are  in  the  possession  of  private  families,  sanctified  by  such  associations 
that  no  collector,  however  enthusiastic,  would  dream  of  adding  them  to  his 
cabinet.  Others  are  in  various  collections.  One  or  two  are  my  own.  I  have 
heard  from  their  owners  the  histories  of  many  of  the  pieces  as  here  related. 
The  book  (while  the  author  has  concealed  names  and  places)  may  be  relied 


0  INTRODUCTORY. 

on  as  a  record  of  veritable  discoveries,  chiefly  in  New  England,  with  veritable 
histories  attached.  The  section  which  is  devoted  to  American  History  illus 
trated  in  pottery  could  not  have  been  completed  in  its  present  valuable  form 
without  the  combined  work  of  a  number  of  collectors.  Its  importance  will 
be  appreciated  by  students  of  history,  as  well  as  lovers  of  old  pottery. 

Few  persons  not  familiar  with  collections  of  pottery  and  porcelain  know- 
how  short  a  time  it  is  since  our  ancestors  ate  their  meals  from  wooden 
trenchers  or  pewter  dishes.  The  bright  and  sparkling  services  on  our 
breakfast,  dinner,  and  tea  tables  are  so  familiar  to  us,  that  we  fail  to  real- 
ize that  such  table -services  are  things  of  modern  days.  )Few  families  in 
America  had  even  crockery  dishes  in  the  first  half  of  the  last  century.  Nor 
was  England  in  advance  of  America  in  this  respect.  The  "finds"  of  The 
China  Hunters  Club  in  Xew  England  illustrate  the  origin  and  advance  of  the 
general  use  of  decorated  pottery  as  one  of  the  embellishments  of  advancing 
civilization  in  both  the  Old  World  and  Xew. 

The  entire  history  includes  less  than  two  hundred  years.  I  It  begins  in 
England  with  Dwight's  gray  stone-wares,  made  at  Fulham  about  1680,  and 
the  improvements  in  forms  and  relief  decorations  made  by  the  Elers  Broth- 
ers at  Bradwell  between  1688  and  1*700.  Other  English  potters  were  mak- 
ing coarse,  heavy  wares,  which  they  now  began  to  produce  in  white,  with 
rude  color  decorations,  mostly  blue,  in  imitation  of  the  products  of  Delft  in 
Holland.  From  1700  to  1750  the  chief  advances  made  were  in  improving 
pastes,  chiefly  stone-wares,  making  thinner  and  stronger  wares,  and  adopting 
for  table  furniture  patterns  from  silver  services  of  the  Queen  Anne  period. 
Color  decorations  made  slight  progress.  "Tortoise-shell"  and  "combed" 
wares  were,  perhaps,  the  best-looking  table  potteries  of  the  time.  Cauli- 
flower, black  glazed,  and  melon  wares  were  favorites  toward  the  middle  of 
the  century. 

Then  came  Josiah  Wedgwood,  beginning  to  work  for  himself  in  1752,  and 
a  new  age  commenced  in  the  history  of  Ceramic  Art  in  England  and  all  Eu- 


INTRODUCTORY.  7 

rope.  Pastes,  forms,  colors,  decorations,  every  department  of  the  art,  sprang 
forward  under  his  swift  lead.  Twenty  years  worked  an  almost  miraculous 
change  in  the  art,  and,  consequently,  in  the  homes  in  which  the  art  had  be- 
come an  established  resident.  Thenceforth  to  be  a  successful  potter  was  to 
make  artistic  wares,  and  rival  Wedgwood  in  the  markets. 

In  1756  transfer-printing  on  pottery,  invented  by  Sadler  at  Liverpool,  gave 
a  new  impetus  to  the  decoration  and  sale  of  wares,  and  introduced  abundance 
of  cheap  beauty  into  home  life. 

Chinese  porcelain  had  been  imported  for  the  wealthy,  and  now  porcelain 
began  to  be  made  in  England  :  at  Bow,  about  1744 ;  at  Chelsea,  about  1745  ; 
at  Derby,  in  1751 ;  and  at  Worcester  in  the  same  year.  Potteries  rivalled 
porcelains  in  beauty  and  popular  favor  till  the  end  of  the  century ;  and  the 
superior  strength  of  porcelain  led  to  the  invention  of  numerous  new  stone- 
ware pastes  which  have  been  triumphs  of  British  art  in  the  union  of  utility, 
beauty,  and  cheapness. 

The  rise  and  progress  of  the  art  in  England  appear  in  this  volume,  illus- 
trated for  the  first  time,  by  the  domestic  potteries  of  the  American  Colonies 
and  States.  Nowhere  else  can  be  found  any  information  on  this  subject. 
Jugs  like  these  of  Dwight  came  here,  as  we  now  know  from  the  specimen 
illustrated  at  page  61,  which,  though  later  than  Dwight,  is  apparently  Ful- 
ham-ware.  The  Peasant's  Dance  mug,  at  page  179,  is  another  interesting 
example  of  salt-glazed  stone-ware.  Delft  plates,  from  Holland  or  England, 
were  the  earliest  American  crockeries,  used  by  our  ancestors  when  they  gave 
up  wooden  trenchers.  Then  came  tortoise-shell  plates,  and  cauliflower  wares, 
like  the  beautiful  teapot  at  page  115,  and  black  Jackfield  teapots,  such  as  the 
one  shown  at  page  127.  These  were  made  all  along  from  1713  to  1780. 
Other  teapots,  of  various  forms,  with  pretty  reliefs  and  bright  bits  of  color 
decoration,  came  out  as  the  use  of  the  beverage  spread ;  for  tea  was  not  used 
in  America  before  1710.  The  Bristol  pottery  teapot,  at  page  127,  is  a  good 
specimen  of  a  favorite  style.     Wedgwood's  wares  seldom  came  here,  so  far 


8  INTRODUCTORY. 

as  we  can  judge  from  family  relics ;  but  occasional  examples  are  found,  and 
American  houses  abound  in  illustrations  of  his  influence  on  other  potters. 
Porcelain,  either  English  or  Chinese',  was  uncommon  here  till  after  the  Rev- 
olution. Rare  specimens,  like  the  plates  at  pages  75  and  151,  serve  to  show, 
by  their  rarity,  how  exceptional  was  wealth  and  luxury  among  the  fathers. 

Transfer- printing  has  abundant  illustration  in  old  specimens,  exhibiting 
the  art  in  the  last  century.  Later  on,  as  our  country  began  to  have  a  his- 
tory, the  Ceramic  Art  began  to  do,  what  it  has  done  in  all  ages  and  all  civ- 
ilized countries,  illustrate  in  permanent  pictures  the  events  of  history.  With 
whatever  disdain  the  collector  of  Dresden  and  Sevres  may  now  look  down  on 
the  blue-printed  crockeries  of  Clews  and  Wood  and  Ridgway,  the  day  will 
come  when  Ceramic  specimens  showing  our  first  steamships,  our  first  rail- 
ways, the  portraits  of  our  distinguished  statesmen,  soldiers,  and  sailors,  the 
openings  of  our  canals,  the  various  events  of  our  wars,  and  our  triumphs  in 
peace,  will  rank  in  historical  collections  with  the  vases  of  Greece.  And 
whatever  then  be  the  estimate  of  the  art  they  exemplify,  men  will  say, 
"These  show  the  tastes,  these  illustrate  the  home -life,  of  the  men  and 
women  who  were  the  founders  and  rulers  of  the  American  Republic." 

W.  C.  PRIME. 
Lonesome  Lake  Cabin,  June  1, 1878. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  How  the  Club  Began 13 

II.  Woman  in  Ceramics 21 

III.  Cousin  Eunice's  Cream-pot • 30 

IV.  Pottery  and  Poetry 45 

V.  Daisy  Farm  Letters 66 

VI.  Personalities  about  Potters 98 

VII.  A  China  Craze 117 

VIII.  American  History  Illustrated  in  Pottery 137 

IX.  Aunt  Charry's  Boarder 167 

X.  Pottery  and  Religion 181 

XI.  More  Daisy  Farm  Letters 199 

XII.  Hunting  along  the  Roads 213 

XIII.  What  the  Children  Found 233 

XIV.  What  we  all  Found 243 

XV.  How  the  Club  Ended 256 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

China  Hunting  at  Daisy  Farm Frontispiea 

1.  Cousin  Eunice's  Cream-pot 17 

2.  Xan  of  the  Vale  Jug 17 

3.  The  Contribushing  Bowl 31 

4.  The  Pittsfield  Platter 31 

5.  The  Soft-soap  Cup 47 

6.  A  Bit  of  Cynthia's  Romance 47 

7.  Little  Abey's  Posy-holder 61 

8.  A  Fulham  Jug 61 

9.  A  China  Craze 75 

10.  A  Family  Relic 75 

11.  Fulton's  Steamship  ? 89 

12.  The  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad 103 

13.  Parson  Pierson's  Idol 103 

14.  Aunt  Dru's  Cauliflower  Teapot 115 

15.  Jase's  Checker-board  Bowl 115 

16.  A  Jackfield  Teapot 127 

17.  "  Oh,  you  old  Thing !" 127 

18.  Benny  Arnold's  Plate 141 

19.  Perry  Plate 141 

20.  The  Plate  Capt.  Eben  "  resked  his  Life  for " 151 

21.  State  House  at  Hartford 151 

22.  The  Fairy's  Cradle  Mollie  found 165 


13  ILL  US IRA  II .. 

PAGE 

165 

17y 

25.  Where  d  197 

26.  Bo-  197 

87.  Wedgwood  Hate 





I  'uck  of  a  Sauce-boat I] 



...     :  


THE  GHIXA  HUNTERS  CLUB. 


i. 

HOW  THE  CLUB  BEGAN. 


"What  should  we  do  that  winter  ]  We  were  so  tired  of  Ladv 
Washington  tea-parties,  old  folk's  concerts,  historical  tableaux, 
exhibitions  of  Revolutionary  relies,  and  such  reminders  of  an- 
cient days  and  our  illustrious  forefathers.  What  should  Little- 
ville  do  now  ] 

This  was  no  trifling  question,  no  petty  inquiry.  Littleville 
was  not  a  commonplace,  humdrum  town ;  its  inhabitants  were 
no  ordinary,  every-day  kind  of  people.  Littleville  had  aspirations  ; 
some  of  these  had  been  already  satisfied.  It  desired  to  be  called 
— it  had  been  called — a  Centre  of  Thought  (with  capitals,  you 
know),  a  modern  Athens,  an  "  arena  where  brave  souls  grapple 
fearlessly  with  the  daring  views  of  advanced  thinkers  aud  wrest 
the  truth  from  nature  and  revelation"  (I  copy  that  from  an  edi- 
torial of  the  Littleville  Herald^  and  it  is  so  nice).  Kettle-drums, 
sewing  societies,  sociables,  dance-,  receptions,  dinners,  and  such 
ordinary  recreations  were  not  for  the  Littlevilleans.  With  us 
everything  must  have  an  object,  a  direct  intellectual  aim.  We 
indulged  in  Shakspeareau   readings,  with  oysters  aud  coffee,  in 


14  HOW  THE  CLUB  BEGAN. 

Goethe  clubs,  with  tea  and  sandwiches;  we  had  Herbert  Spencer 
dinners  and  evolution  Germans,  Kant  skating  parties,  and  Hume 
picnics.  We  mingled  Greek  roots  with  our  salads,  sprinkled 
our  strawberries  with  Hebrew  vowel -points,  and  flavored  our 
ice-cream  with  Sanscrit  and  Arabic.  What  six  mid  we  do  that 
winter?  Many  and  varied  were  the  suggestions  offered.  Schlie- 
mann  evenings,  Owen  Jones  coasting  parties,  Cesnola  charades, 
and  even  a  Joseph  Cook  whist  club,  had  all  been  discussed  and 
rejected,  when  the  presentation  of  Miss  Meteyard's  "Life  of 
Wedgwood"  to  Lizzie  Banks — her  uncle  Richard  sent  it  to  her 
from  Boston  as  a  New-Year's  gift — gave  us  a  new  and  brilliant 
idea.     We  would  have  a  Ceramic  Club  ! 

Never  was  project  hailed  more  rapturously,  entered  upon  more 
promptly  and  enthusiastically.  The  book  arrived  on  December 
31st.  That  very  evening,  as  a  half-dozen  young  people  gathered 
around  the  wood  fire  in  Mrs.  Banks's  dining  room  to  say  farewell 
to  the  old  year,  some  one — we  could  never  afterward  recall  just 
who  it  was — proposed  the  plan.  All  seized  it,  and  before  the  year 
was  an  hour  old  the  club  was  a  fixed  fact.  A  lively  discussion 
arose  as  to  the  name  of  the  association.  Lizzie  Banks,  who 
thought  that  to  her  New-Year's  gift  the  club  owed  its  existence, 
proposed  that  it  should  bear  the  name  of  Wedgwood. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Mary  Dillingham,  "T  am  almost 
ashamed  to  confess  it,  but  I  never  knew  until  a  few  months  ago 
that  Wedgwood  was  the  name  of  a  man;  I  always  thought  it 
was  a  material.  "When  I  was  a  child  we  had  two  mortars  for 
pounding  spices;  one  was  'the  boxwood  mortar,'  the  other  'the 
Wedgwood  mortar,'  and  I  thought  the  terms  similar.  When  I 
saw  a  picture  last  summer  of  Josiah  Wedgwood  and  heard  all 
about  him  and  his  work,  I  was  astounded." 

"  Well,  do  tell  me,"  said  Sophy  Graves,  eagerly,  in  her  quick, 
breathless  way:   "is  Spode  a  place  or  a  kind  of  ware?     I  de- 


110  W  THE  CLUB  BEG  AX.  15 

dare  I  will  never  attend  another  party,  or  even  speak  to  a  re- 
spectable person,  till  I  know." 

"Spode,  my  dear  Sophia!"  replied  Mrs.  Leavitt,  in  her  patron- 
izing, bnt  delightful  manner,  which  we  all  like  and  no  one  resents, 
"Spode  is  neither  the  name  of  a  place  nor  a  material,  but  of  a 
potter.  Josiah  Spode  made  earthen-ware  at  Stoke-upon-Trent 
from  1770  to  1797.  He  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Josiah,  who 
introduced  the  manufacture  of  porcelain,  mixing  bones  in  the 
paste,  which  added  to  its  transparency  and  beauty." 

"Then  it's  too  late,"  cried  Sophy,  "and  I  have  already  dis- 
graced myself,  for  when  Dr.  Lamb  was  here  the  other  day,  and 
spoke  of  visiting  Dresden,  Sevres,  and  other  places  where  they 
make  china,  I  asked  him  if  he  passed  through  Spode.  I  thought 
he  looked  oddly,  but  he  did  not  correct  me." 

"Never  mind,  Miss  Sophy,  you  know  all  about  it  now,"  said 
Charley  Baker;  "Spode  is  the  man  who  mixed  bones.  You  had 
never  '  regarded  him  in  that  bony  light,'  had  you  ?"  (Charley 
quotes  Dickens  both  in  and  out  of  season.) 

"  Why  not  call  our  club  the  Keramic  Coterie  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Chase,  languidly. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  say  Ceramic,"  exclaimed  Sophy  Graves,  "  I 
hate  it.  Ceramic  has  been  introduced  into  our  language,  is  an- 
glicized, and  should  be  pronounced  accordingly.  Unless  you  are 
prepared  to  go  to  extremes,  to  say  Kikero  and  Julius  Kaiser, 
Kelt  and  Keltic,  kerements  and  kemetery,  do  not,  I  beg  of  you, 
say  keramics." 

"  How  would  The  Tea-table  do  ?  Rather  neat,  isn't  it  \  Sug- 
gestive, and  all  that."     This  from  Charley  Baker. 

"Dreadful.  It  sounds  like  Cowpcr's  Task,  '  I  sing  the  Sofa.' 
Don't  take  an  upholstery  name  like  that." 

"You  are  not  the  first  ceramist  (with  a  soft  cl)  to  be  down  on 
furniture,  Miss  Lee.     Palissy  chopped  up  his  tables  and  chairs. 


1G  HOW  THE  CLUB  BEGAN. 

and  smashed  tilings  generally,  to  heat  up  his  furnaces  and  make 
his  pottery.     Nice  quiet  family  man  he  was!" 

''And  he  made  such  horrid  things,  too,"  sighed  the  sensitive 
Mrs.  Chase;  "eels  and  snakes,  and  slimy,  crawly  things.  Do  not 
let  us  use  his  name." 

"  But  T  was  brought  up  to  think  Bernard  Palissy  a  hero  and 
saint.  His  life,  'Palissy  the  Potter,'  was  in  our  Sunday-school 
library,  and  I  read  it  again  and  again.  I  will  not  give  him  up. 
He  was  an  enthusiast,  and  enthusiasts  are  not  always  pleasant 
members  of  a  family  circle;  but  what  Avould  the  world  be  without 
them  ?  I  cling  to  old  illusions.  I  like  an  old  falsehood  better 
than  a  new  truth.  ('Hear,  hear,' from  Charley  Baker.)  William 
Tell  did  shoot  the  apple  from  his  son's  head.  Pocahontas  did 
save  the  life  of  Capt.  John  Smith — I've  seen  her  do  it  in  Parley's 
History.  Homer  was  a  dear  old  blind  beggar,  and  made  up  every 
word  of  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  too.  Do  let  my  illusions 
alone  ;  I  believe  in  Palissy,  and  reverence  his  name.'' 

"So  she  should,"  said  Charley;  "nobody  shall  tease  her,  and 
we  shall  be  called  Pious  Palissy's  Pets — a  sweet  name." 

"  Let  Helen  alone,  Charley  Baker,  I  admire  her  spirit,  though — 
begging  her  pardon — I  think  old  Bernard  Palissy  a  cold-blooded 
brute.  Hut  why  cannot  we  be  the  Willow  Pattern  Club — every 
one  could  understand  that." 

"Or  the  Blue  Dragons,"  suggested  Mr. Leavitt. 

"  YYc  might  call  ourselves  Etrurians,"  said  Lizzie  Banks,  glan- 
cing  over  the  pages  of  her  newly  acquired  book. 

"Or  Samians,"  murmured  the  bashful  Brooks,  a  sophomore  at 
Harvard,  and  up  in  his  classics. 

Name  after  name  sprang  up.  We  were  to  be  Amphora-,  Pitch- 
er plants,  China-asters,  our  club  the  Crockery  ('rale,  the  Potter's 
Wheel,  the  Kaolin  Club,  the  Potluck  Club,  the  China  Cabinet. 
But  the  end  of  it  all  was  that  these  fine  titles  were  rejected,  and 


1.  Cousin  Eunice's  Ckeam-pot:  page  41. 

[Old  English  pottery  :  tortoise-shell  ware.] 


2.  Nan  of  the  Vale  Jug  :  pnge  57. 

[Cream-ware  :  black  print :  Staffordshire.] 


HOW  THE  CLUB  BEGAN.  19 

we  settled  upon  one  offered  modestly  by  Mollie  Allison,  a  bright, 
shy  little  girl  of  twelve,  and  called  ourselves  henceforth  and  for- 
ever, "The  China  Hunters." 

"We  had  no  constitution,  no  by-laws,  passed  no  resolutions,  re- 
quired no  membership  fees.  We  bad  not  even  a  regular  evening 
for  our  meetings.  We  assembled  when  and  where  we  pleased  , 
two  of  us  were  sufficient  to  constitute  a  quorum,  as  our  only  aim 
and  object  was  to  "  talk  china."  We  brought  all  that  was  old 
and  rare  from  our  own  homes,  borrowed  from  friends,  begged 
from  relations,  and  these  treasures  we  discussed,  examined,  filed, 
and  scratched  till  we  knew  them  thoroughly,  or,  at  least,  had  some 
theory  concerning  them. 

We  put  our  money  together  and  purchased  some  standard 
works,  and  now  and  then  members  brought  books  from  their 
own  libraries.  We  bought  Chaffer's  Marks  and  Monograms, 
the  large  edition,  first  of  all ;  and  tben  we  bought  Marrvat,  and 
Jacquemart,  and  Demmin.  We  bought  Beckwith's  Majolica  and 
Faience  when  it  was  published,  and  it  helped  us  greatly  when  any 
of  us  went  to  the  Museum  of  Art  in  New  York  and  saw  the 
Castellani  collection.  We  had  Mr.  Prime's  book  the  last  winter 
of  the  club's  existence,  and  Mr.  Elliott's.  Dr.  Wells  lent  us  from 
his  library  Winckelmann,  and  other  books  on  ancient  Art,  and  we 
added  Dr.  Birch's  Ancient  Pottery  to  the  club  possessions.  Mr. 
Chase  owned  and  placed  at  our  disposal  the  splendid  works  of 
Delange  on  Palissy  and  on  Italian  Wares,  and  the  gorgeously 
colored  illustrations  were  almost  as  good  as  a  collection  of  the 
original  articles.  With  these,  and  with  Miss  Meteyard's  life  of 
Wedgwood,  which  belonged  to  Lizzie  Banks,  and  various  hand- 
books and  special  treatises  on  Liverpool,  Worcester,  Bristol,  and 
other  factories,  we  had  a  pretty  good  ceramic  library. 

We  organized  hunting  expeditions,  and  went  in  twos  and  threes 
to  neighboring  villages  in  search  of  plunder.     If  any  member  of 


20  BOW  THE  CLUB  BEG  AX. 

the  club  left  Littleville  for  a  long  or  short  stay,  he  or  she  gathered 
all  the  information  possible,  and  of  course  as  many  "specimens" 
as  could  be  found;  wrote  accounts  of  ceramic  adventures,  with 
descriptions  of  the  treasures  discovered,  decorations,  marks,  etc.; 
and  such  letters  were  read  aloud  at  our  meetings  and  freely  dis- 
cussed. Sometimes  papers  upon  particular  branches  of  the  art 
were  prepared  and  read,  stories  were  told,  pictures  drawn — oh, 
what  did  we  not  do  in  that  charming  club? 

I  cannot  say  that  we  were  "a  joy  forever"  to  the  outside 
world.  One-ideaed  people  are  not  the  most  entertaining  compan- 
ions, and  I  fear  we  were  too  absorbed  in  our  delightful  hobby  to 
remember  always  that  many  people  were  indifferent  to  it,  and 
that  we  were  possibly  neglecting  other  and  more  important  duties 
for  those  near  and  dear  occupations  inside  our  charmed  circle. 

But  we  had  a  lovely  time.  I  was  the  youngest  member,  the 
only  one  still  at  school,  and  considered  my  enrollment  a  mighty 
honor.  I  did  sometimes  think  that  I  might  have  owed  my 
promotion  to  the  fact  that  my  uncle  Leonard  was  one  of  the 
most  noted  china  collectors  in  our  country,  and  quite  an  authority 
in  ceramics.  But  the  thought  did  not  spoil  my  enjoyment,  and 
1  was  proud  and  glad  to  bring  new  and  valuable  information 
gathered  from  this  source. 

And  now  I  shall  try  to  tell  you  what  we  did  during  the  winters 
and  summers  in  which  our  club  existed,  for  alas!  it  is  no  more. 
But  there,  I  am  telling  my  storj  \<«>  last.  It  spoils  a  bookfor  me 
to  know  beforehand  how  the  tale  ends,  so  I  will  not  say  another 
word,  but  take  you  at  once  into  the  presence  of  the  "China 
Hunters." 


II. 

WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS. 

Mrs.  Leavitt  was  one  of  our  most  delightful  members.  She 
was  an  indefatigable  student,  and  spent  hours  every  day  over 
Chaffers,  Marryat,  and  Jacquemart.  She  would  devote  herself  to 
one  single  point  for  days,  until  she  had  mastered  it.  Then  skil- 
fully leading  the  conversation  at  the  Club  toward  the  theme  upon 
which  she  felt  herself  particularly  well  informed,  she  would  sud- 
denly say,  with  a  mild  surprise  in  voice  and  look,  "  Why,  my 
dears,  do  you  not  know  that  in  1795,  etc.,  etc.,"  or,  "  Is  it  possible, 
my  young  friends,  that  you  do  not  recall  the  fact  that  Ralph 
Wood,  etc.,  etc.,"  quoting  boldly  as  original  whole  pages  from  her 
text-books.     It  was  simply  delicious. 

One  evening — we  were  at  Annie  Baker's,  I  remember,  and  no 
one  seemed  to  have  much  to  say — Mrs.  Leavitt  looked  calmly 
around  upon  us  through  her  gold  eyeglasses,  and  began : 

"  I  met  a  youth  from  Boston  a  few  days  ago.  We  conversed 
upon  art,  religion,  literature,  science,  and  kindred  topics.  At 
length  we  touched  upon  ceramics.  I  modestly  observed  that  I 
was  interested  in  the  subject,  and  that  I  possessed  a  small  but 
growing  collection  of  pottery  and  porcelain.  The  youth  from 
Boston  smiled.  'Ah,  well,'  he  said,  patronizingly,  'it  is  a  harm- 
less, lady-like  taste;  but  do  you  know'  (with  an  air  of  charming 
frankness)  'I  have  never  yet  seen  the  woman  who  could  distin- 
guish Sevres  from  Staffordshire,  Delft  from  Dresden.' 

"Now  I  am  a  person  of  calm  and  equable  temperament,  rarely 


22  WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS. 

roused  to  wrath  ;  and  after  a  moment's  pause  I  answered  mildly, 
'Sir,  you  know  not  of  what  you  speak.  Ceramic  art  owes  many 
of  its  greatest  triumphs  to  women.  Let  us  first  glance  at 
noted  china-collectors  of  different  climes  and  periods.  How 
many  of  these  were  women  ?  Queen  Elizabeth  is  said  to  have 
been  the  very  first  collector  of  china  in  England,  and  the  first 
pieces  of  Oriental  porcelain  ever  brought  to  that  country  were 
in  her  possession,  having  been  presented  to  her  majesty  by  Cav- 
endish, the  celebrated  traveller.  Lord  Theodore  Burghley  also 
gave  to  the  queen  as  a  new-year  gift,  1587-8,  a  porringer  'of 
white  porselyn  '  decorated  with  gold  ;  and  Mr.  Robert  Cecil  offered 
at  the  same  time  '  a  cup  of  grene  pursselyne.' 

"Queen  Mary,  consort  of  William  III.,  had  a  vast  collection  of 
china  at  Hampton  Court.  The  finest  collection  of  Oriental  por- 
celain in  England  was  made  by  Queen  Charlotte.  Queen  Chris- 
tina was  heard  to  say  that  of  all  the  treasures  of  the  Santa  Casa, 
the  richly  adorned  shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Lorctto,  she  esteemed 
most  highly  the  majolica  vases  from  the  Spezieria.  In  the  list  of 
well  known  early  English  collectors  we  find  the  names  of  Lady 
Germaine,  the  Duchess  of  Portland,  Lady  Webster,  and  Mrs.  Eliz- 
abeth Carter.  Later  collectors  are  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Howe  (who  de- 
voted herself  principally  to  teapots,  bequeathing  three  hundred 
specimens  to  her  daughter),  Lady  Charlotte  Schreiber  (who  pos- 
sesses rare  majolica,  priceless  Bow,  <  Jhelsea,  and  Derby),  the  Coun- 
tess of  Ilopetoun,  Lady  Crewe,  Lady  Stafford,  Miss  Burdett 
Coutts,  and  a  host  of  others. 

"  Women  have  from  early  days  been  the  patrons  and  encour- 
agers  of  ceramic  art.  Catherine  de  Medici  took  Bernard  Palissy 
under  her  protection,  established  him  at  Paris,  when  driven  by 
persecution  from  Saintes,  gave  him  a  site  for  his  workshop  on  the 
grounds  now  occupied  by  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  and  often 
visited  him  at  his  work.     Maria  Theresa  was  the  patron  of  the 


WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS.  23 

Vienna  manufactory,  and  expended  large  sums  upon  its  improve- 
ment. Madame  de  Pompadour  took  an  eager  interest  in  ceram- 
ics, and  first  suggested  to  the  king,  Louis  XV.,  the  policy  of  es- 
tablishing porcelain  manufacture  in  France,  in  order  to  save  the 
large  sums  which  left  the  kingdom  for  the  purchase  of  Saxon 
ware.  Consequently  we  owe  the  exquisite  porcelain  of  Sevres 
principally  to  her  influence.  The  Empress  Elizabeth  of  Russia 
purchased  and  carried  on  porcelain  works  near  St.  Petersburg. 
Queen  Charlotte  was  the  patron  of  Wedgwood,  ordered  from 
him  a  complete  table  service,  appointed  him  her  own  potter,  and 
desired  that  his  '  cream  ware  '  should  henceforth  be  known  as 
'  Queen's  ware.' 

"And  now  let  me  allude  briefly  to  those  women  who  have 
themselves  been  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  pottery  and  por- 
celain. As  early  as  the  Sung  dynasty  (960-1126)  there  lived  in 
China  a  female  potter,  called  the  'fair  Chow;'  she  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  '  the  venerable  Chow,'  and  both  were  noted  for  their  '  white 
and  violet '  porcelain.  The  '  fair  Chow '  especially  excelled  in 
gourd-shaped  bottles  for  flowers,  which  obtained  as  high  prices  as 
the  vases  of  the  elder  Tchang. 

"  On  ancient  Roman  vases  is  found  the  name  of  a  woman,  Tas- 
cilla  Verticisa,  whose  work  is  much  admired.  Margaret  Dwight 
— daughter  of  Dr.  Dwight,  of  Fulham,  claimed  by  some  as  the 
inventor  of  porcelain  in  England — succeeded  her  father  in  the 
pottery  manufacture.  Jacqueline,  the  unfortunate  Countess  of 
Hainault  and  Holland,  is  said  to  have  employed  her  leisure  while 
in  retirement  at  the  Chateau  de  Teylingen,  near  Rotterdam,  in 
superintending  the  manufacture  of  stone  pots  and  other  vessels, 
which  she  afterward  threw  into  the  moat  about  the  chateau,  that 
they  might  in  after  ages  be  discovered  and  considered  works  of 
antiquity. 

"  The  beautiful  tiles  in  the  Chapter  House  of  the  Cathedral  of 


2 4  WOMAN  IN  CUR  LMlt « 

Saragossa,  in  Spain,  are  the  work  of  ;i  woman,  and  arc  inscribed 
with  her  name,  Donna  Maria  Salvadora  Disdier.  Marion  Durand, 
widow  of  Masseot  Abaquesne,  the  first  Rouen  potter  of  whom  we 
have  any  record,  succeeded  her  husband  in  the  manufacture  of 
fayence,  and  in  15G4  treated  in  her  own  name  with  the  Abbe  of 
a  monastery  in  Normandy  :  '  pour  la  fourniture  de  quatre  milliers 
de  carreaux  emailles  de  couleurs  d'azur,  blanc,  jaulnc  et  vert,  bon, 
loyal  ct  marchand ;  suivant  un  patron  paraphe  et  signe,  au  prix 
de  trente  six  livres  le  mille.' 

"  In  a  list  of  Rouen  potters  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries,  one-fourth  of  the  number  are  women.  In  1751  Mrs. 
Warburton,  of  Cobridge,  made  certain  improvements  in  cream 
ware,  afterward  brought  to  such  perfection  by  Josiah  Wedg- 
wood. 

"Francoise  Blateran,  dame  Lemasle,  obtained,  in  1738,  a  privi- 
lege of  ten  years  for  carrying  on  the  manufacture  of  fayence  at 
Lyons,  and  she  showed  so  much  courage  and  perseverance  that 
in  1748  it  was  renewed  for  another  term  of  ten  years.  The 
widow  Perrin  made  porcelain  at  Marseilles;  the  Demoiselles  Dc- 
leneur  established  works  for  the  manufacture  of  soft-paste  por- 
celain at  Arras  in  1782.  In  the  payments  made  by  the  executors 
of  Queen  Eleanor,  wife  of  Edward  L,  is  an  entry  of  8s.  Qd.  paid 
to  'Juliana  the  Potter,'  for  three  hundred  pitchers.  Madame 
Chicanneau  established  a  porcelain  manufactory  at  Paris  in  1722, 
and  continued  it  until  her  death  in  1743.  The  widow  Sperl  was 
the  founder  of  the  Baden  porcelain  works.  La  veuve  Dulatty  at 
R< mies,  Beatrice  Davys  at  Le  Croisic,  Madame  Letourneau  at 
Bordeaux,  Maria  Lockers,  Sarah  Bell,  Mrs.  Mellor,  Mrs.  Ratcliffe, 
and  Dorothy  Whitehead,  of  Staffordshire,  England,  are  other 
names  which  now  occur  to  me  as  belonging  to  women  engaged 
in  the  manufacture  of  pottery  and  porcelain. 

"And — I  have  reserved  the  best  and  greatest  till  the  last,  my 


WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS.  25 

dear  young  friend — the  maker  of  the  famous  Henri  deux  ware 
was  a  woman  !  Through  the  researches  of  M.  Benjamin  Fillon 
the  name  of  the  author  of  this  wonderful  ware,  so  long  a  mys- 
tery, has  been  made  known,  and  Helene  de  Hangest  now  receives 
the  fame  she  deserves. 

"Some  of  the  best  decorators  of  porcelain  have  been  women. 
Angelica  Kauffman  was  employed  by  the  Dresden  manufactory. 
Thomas  Frye,  of  BowT,  had  two  daughters  who  assisted  him  in 
painting  china.  One  of  them  married  Mr.  Willcox,  of  Worcester, 
and  became  very  eminent  as  a  decorator.  Josiah  Wedgwood,  in 
a  letter  to  Bentley,  1769,  speaks  of  her  in  high  terms  of  com- 
mendation. He  engaged  her  in  that  year.  She  painted  the  best 
figures,  groups,  etc.,  on  his  painted  Etruscan  ware,  between  1769 
and  1776,  and  heads  the  list  of  female  painters  who  were  em- 
ployed upon  the  celebrated  Russian  cream-ware  service  on  which 
Wedgwood  expended  so  great  care  and  labor,  and  which  did  so 
much  to  establish  the  world-wide  fame  of  his  fabric,  when  fin- 
ished in  1774.  The  Empress  Catharine  is  said  to  have  paid 
three  thousand  pounds  for  this  service,  which  was  decorated  with 
English  landscapes,  chiefly  of  gentlemen's  seats  and  renowned 
places. 

"  Madame  Binet,  nee  Sophie  Chanou,  Madame  Maqucret,  Ma- 
dame Bailly,  Louise  Parpette,  Madame  Gerard,  and  a  dozen  other 
ladies,  were  distinguished  painters  at  Sevres.  In  Josiah  Wedg- 
wood's catalogue  of  1787  he  says,  'I  have  lately  been  enabled  to 
enrich  it  (the  catalogue)  with  some  charming  groupes  which 
Lady  Diana  Beauclcrc  and  Lady  Templeton,  whose  exquisite 
taste  is  universally  acknowledged,  have  honored  me  with  the  lib- 
erty of  copying  from  their  designs.'  The  Doultons  of  Lambeth 
employ  female  decorators  for  their  best  work. 

"We  OAve  much  of  our  ceramic  literature  to  women.  Miss 
Meteyard  is  an  authority  as  to  AVedgwood  and  his  productions. 


26  WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS. 

Mrs.  Palliser's  Hand-book  of  Marks  and  translation  of  Jacque- 
mart  arc  well  known  and  valued. 

"  I  pause ;  not  because  my  subject  is  exhausted,  but  that  you 
may  reflect  upon  what  I  have  said.  Do  you  know  that  it  was 
through  the  agency  of  a  woman,  Madame  Darnet,  wife  of  a  poor 
surgeon  of  St.  Yrieix,  that  kaolin  was  discovered  in  France.  She 
found  in  a  ravine  a  white  unctuous  earth,  which  she  thought 
might  be  used  in  washing  as  a  substitute  for  soap.  It  was  car- 
ried to  the  chemist,  Macquer,  who  recognized  it  as  kaolin,  and 
soon  after  established  at  Sevres,  in  1769,  the  manufacture  of  hard 
porcelain.  A  hundred  other  names  and  incidents  spring  to  my 
mind,  and  show  the  utter  absurdity  of  your  allusion  to  woman's 
ignorance  of  the  fictile  art.     Shall  I  name  them  ?" 

"'Ah,  please  don't  trouble  yourself!'  said  the  youth  from 
Boston." 

It  was  over.  Mrs.  Leavitt's  "  eyes  put  on  a  dying  look,  she- 
smiled,  and  ceased  to  speak."  There  was  a  moment's  silence, 
then  murmurs  of  approbation  arose,  comments  and  suggestions 
were  offered,  and  soon  we  were  all  eagerly  discussing  woman's 
place  in  ceramics. 

"  You  spoke,  Mrs.  Leavitt,  of  Madame  Darnet's  discovery  of 
kaolin,"  said  Sophy  Graves;  "it  was  a  woman  too,  according  to 
some  authorities,  who  found  out  the  use  of  salt  for  glazing  earth- 
en-ware. She  was  a  servant  somewhere  in  Staffordshire,  and  while 
preparing  brine  for  preserving  pork,  the  liquid  boiled  over,  and 
glazed  the  sides  of  the  earthen  pipkin  which  contained  it." 

"But  that  was  carelessness,  omission  of  duty,  neglect  of  her 
employer's  interests,  not  inventive  genius,"  said  Dr.  Hall,  gravely. 

"Ah,  do  not  repress  me  in  that  way,  doctor.  So  it  was  care- 
lessness in  Isaac  Newton  to  have  allowed  that  apple  to  remain  on 
the  tree  till  ripe  enough  to  fall  and  be  bruised  on  the  attractive 
earth  toward  which  its  rosy-cheeked  mellowness  gravitated.     So 


WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS.  27 

it  was  a  neglect  of  duty  for — oh,  what  was  his  name — not  to  take 
from  the  fire  that  teakettle  which  was  boiling  its  lid  off  in  the 
laudable  effort  to  show  the  power  of  steam,  and  so — " 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  Miss  Sophy,"  said  Charlie  Baker,  sooth- 
ingly. "  I've  no  doubt  it  was  a  woman  who  invented  salt  glaze. 
I  know  one  female  who  was  intimately  associated  with  the  sub- 
ject long  before  the  Staffordshire  pork  pickle  '  slopped  over.'  " 

"  And  who  was  that  ?" 

"  Lot's  wife,"  replied  the  irrepressible. 

"  But  I  thought,"  began  his  sister,  eager  to  arrest  the  storm 
which  seemed  hanging  over  the  irreverent  trifler's  head  —  "I 
thought  the  Elers  brothers  invented  salt  glaze.  I  am  sure  that 
Chaffers  says  so." 

"  No ;  he  says  that  they  introduced  its  use  into  England,  and 
possibly  brought  it  from  Germany,  but  I  have  no  doubt  they 
benefited  by  the  poor  serving- woman's  previous  knowledge. 
However  that  may  be,  it  was  owing  to  a  woman's  kindness  that 
John  Philip  Elers  was  a  successful  man.  When  in  great  poverty 
and  distress,  Lady  Barrington,  a  philanthropic  though  rather  ec- 
centric lady,  took  an  interest  in  him,  set  him  up  in  a  china  and 
glass  shop  in  Dublin,  and  aided  him  in  other  ways,  until  he  was 
enabled  to  establish  his  potteries  in  Bradwell. 

"And  just  think,"  said  Lizzie  Banks,  "of  all  the  women  who 
have  inspired  pottery  and  decorators.  You  have  seen  those  plates 
in  the  Castellani  collection,  amatorii,  they  call  them,  on  which  are 
portraits  of  beautiful  women,  with  their  names  and  some  flatter- 
ing title  inscribed  beneath.  These  were  presented  as  pledges  of 
affection  by  cavalier  to  lady-love.  They  .bear  such  names  as 
Madalena  Bella,  Faustina-pulita-e-bella,  Chasandra,  Camilla,  etc. 
Sometimes  they  have  emblems;  such  as  clasped  hands,  cupids, 
flames,  and  hearts.  Passeri  mentions  one,  signed  by  Maestro 
Giorgio,  having   underneath   the   portrait   of  a   lady   the   words 


23  WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS. 

Daniella  Diva,  and  above,  a  bleeding  heart  with  Oime.  I  like  to 
think  that  sometimes  the  lovers  themselves  were  the  artists,  and 
wrought  their  own  fervid  Italian-born  love  into  these  charming 
works  of  art ;  at  least  they  may  have  sat  by  the  painters,  Fonta- 
na,  Giorgio,  or  Xanto,  and  directed  with  loving  zeal  their  labors, 
describing  in  tender  Italian  words  the  charms  of  Silvia  Bella 
or  Laura  Diva,  their  arched  eyebrows,  the  golden-brown  hair,  the 
shell-like  ear,  the  delicately  rounded  chin — " 

"Draw  it  mild,  Miss  Banks/*  cried  Charlie  Baker  (he  was 
rather  addicted  to  the  use  of  slang)  ;  "  did  yon  ever  see  the  pict- 
ures of  those  young  women  yon  are  talking  of?  Of  all  stiff, 
poky,  angular  females!  Corkscrew  curls  of  gingerbread  color, 
straying  down  one  cheek,  foreheads  so  high  as  to  extend  nearly 
to  the  hack  hair,  long,  straight  noses,  and  little  pursed-up  mouths. 
Such  insipid,  sickish-looking  women  could  never  inspire  me  to 
paint  majolica,  or  even  paste  pictures  on  a  ginger  jar.'" 

"  But  I  have  seen  beautiful  women  upon  Sevres,  Dresden,  and 
Capo-di-Monte  porcelain.  My  uncle  has  a  Dresden  cup  with 
a  lovely  head  of  Heloise  painted  by  Angelica  Kauffmann,  and 
some  Sevres  plates  with  portraits  of  Roman  empresses.  He  has 
a  Saint  Cecilia  on  an  old  Dresden  cup  that  I  am  sure  is  a  portrait 
of  some  German  beauty  of  the  last  century,  and  a  peasant-girl 
painted  on  a  Capo-di-Monte  saucer  that  no  one  could  have  painted 
without  falling  in  love  with  the  beautiful  creature." 

"And  T  have  another  interesting  item  to  add,"  cried  Mrs.  Ste- 
venson, returning  from  the  library  with  a  small  blue  and  gold 
volume  in  her  hand.  "I  thought  1  should  find  it  here.  Do  you 
know  that  the  patron  saints  of  potters  are  women  '.  Let  me  read 
vou  lliis  from  Mrs.  Jameson's  Sacred  and  Legendary  Art: 

'"St.  Justa  and  St.  Rufina,  patronesses  of  Seville,  19  July, 
A.D.  -304.  These  were  two  Christian  sisters  dwelling  in  that 
eitv.     They  were  tin-  daughters  of  a  potter,  and  made  a  living  by 


WOMAN  IN  CERAMICS.  29 

selling  earthen-ware ;  and,  contenting  themselves  with  the  bare 
necessaries  of  life,  they  gave  all  the  rest  to  the  poor.  Certain 
women  who  lived  near  them,  and  who  were  worshippers  of  the 
goddess  Venus,  came  to  their  shop  to  buy  vases  for  their  idola- 
trous sacrifice.  The  two  sisters  answered  that  they  had  no  ves- 
sels for  such  a  purpose ;  that  their  ware  should  be  used  for  the 
service  of  God,  and  not  in  the  worship  of  stocks  and  stones. 
Upon  this  the  Pagan  women  broke  all  the  earthen-ware  in  their 
shop.  Jnsta  and  Rutina  retaliated  by  falling  upon  the  image  of 
Venus,  which  they  broke  to  pieces  and  flung  into  the  kennel.  The 
populace  immediately  collected  before  their  door,  seized  them,  and 
carried  them  before  the  prefect.  On  being  accused  of  sacrilege, 
they  boldly  avowed  themselves  to  be  Christians;  and,  being  con- 
demned to  the  torture,  Justa  expired  on  the  rack,  and  Rufina  was 
strangled.  This  came  to  pass  in  the  year  304.  The  two  sisters 
are  represented  bearing  the  palm  as  martyrs,  and  holding  in  their 
hands  earthen-ware  pots.  Murillo  has  frequently  painted  them. 
The  Duke  of  Sutherland  has  two  beautiful  half-length  figures  of 
these  two  saints,  holding  each  their  palms  and  alcarazzas  (earth- 
en-ware pots).  In  the  Spanish  gallery  of  the  Louvre  there  are  sev- 
eral representations  of  them  by  Zurbaran  and  others.  Zurbaran 
represents  them  richly  dressed  ;  but  Murillo  has  generally  painted 
them  as  muchachas  (Spanish  girls  of  the  lower  class).  There  was 
a  magnificent  sketch  by  Murillo  in  the  Aguado  gallery,  represent- 
ing the  Virgin  in  glory,  and,  kneeling  in  adoration  before  her, 
St.  Justa  and  St.  Rufina,  with  their  alcarazzas  at  their  feet,  ac- 
companied by  St.  Francis  and  St.  John  the  Baptist — painted,  I 
presume,  for  the  Capuchins  of  Seville.'  " 


111. 

COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-POT. 

Our  club  met  one  evening  at  Sophy  Graves's,  and  she  said  : 
"  There  is  a  dear  old  woman  with  us  from  the  country,  whom  I 
want  you  to  see.  She  has  a  curious  piece  of  old  pottery,  about 
which  she  tells  a  romantic  story.  I  have  begged  her  to  come 
down -stairs  to-night  and  tell  you  the  tale  in  her  own  way. 
Would  you  like  to  hear  it?"  Of  course  we  were  eager  to  do  so, 
and  Sophy  at  once  brought  "  Cousin  Eunice  "  to  us. 

"  Well,  I  never !  To  think  of  your  all  settin1  round  to  hear 
me  talk,  jest  as  if  I  was  a  book  or  a  lib'ry.  I'm  real  'fraid  you'll 
be  dis'p'inted ;  but  I  promised  Sophiey,  an'  I  allers  set  by  my 
word;  so  here  goes.  I  won't  show  you  the  crock'ry  till  you've 
heerd  the  story,  'cause  they'd  spile  each  other  at  fust. 

"Ye  sec,  'twas  when  we  lived  on  the  Yeller  House  Farm.  Fa- 
ther he'd  been  dead  more'n  two  year.  lie  used  to  be,  one  time, 
ical  well  off  an'  prosp'rous ;  but  he  signed  his  name  to  help  his 
friends,  an'  crops  was  bad,  an'  somehow  he  got  broke  down,  an' 
he  jest  gin  up  an'  died,  an'  we  on'y  had  the  farm,  an'  that  was 
mortgaged,  an'  we  was  poor  enough,  I  tell  ye.  But  we  rubbed 
an'  scrubbed  along.  Me  an'  ma  was  smart,  an'  not  a  bit  'fraid  o' 
work,  an'  we  wouldn't  ha'  minded  nothin'  at  all  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  J'rissy — Priscilly  her  name  was.  She  was  the  baby,  ye  see, 
five  year  younger  'n  me,  an'  jest  as  different  as — as  a  rose-bud 
from  a  cabbage.  I  can't  tell  ye  how  pritty  she  was — so  soft  an' 
white  an'  clean   an'  sweet,  with  yeller  hair  an'  big  blue  eyes  an' 


3.  The  Contribcshing  Bowl:  page  70. 

[Old  English  pottery  :  painted  in  colors.] 


4.  The  Pittsfield  Platter:  page  79. 

[Pottery  by  Clews,  Cobridge  ;  print  in  dark  blue  :  on  the  back,  "  Winter  View  of  Pittsfield,  Ma 


COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-POT.  33 

pink  cheeks  an'  little  white  teeth  she-win'  when  she  laffed ;  an' 
she  was  so  spry  an'  little,  an'  she'd  dance  round  like  a  robin,  an' 
sing  jest  like  one  too,  an'  when  she  laffed,  why,  'twas  the  rinkle- 
ist,  tinkleist,  bubbleist  kin'  of  a  noise,  like  Shiner  Brook  goin' 
over  the  steppin'  stuns.  She  had  sech  coaxin'  little  ways,  ye 
couldn't  no  more  say  '  no'  to  her  than — than  nothin'.  Oh  !  how 
ma  an'  me  sot  by  that  little  gal !  She  warn't  very  strong,  an'  we 
wouldn't  have  her  do  much  work.  We  sent  her  to  school,  an1  we 
got  her  pritty  clo'es,  an'  let  her  keep  her  hands  soft  an'  white. 
There  warn't  nothin'  we  wouldn't  do  for  her.  An'  she  was  wuth 
it,  too.  There  warn't  no  spilin'  her.  She  was  sweet  all  the  way 
through  ;  she'd  beg  us  not  to  do  so  much  for  her,  an'  she'd  try 
to  make  me  wear  her  nice  clo'es  an'  her  blue  ribbons  ;  an'  when 
she  went  out  to  visit  the  big  folks — for  they  took  a  deal  o'  notice 
on  her — she'd  allers  bring  home  suthin'  nice  to  me  an'  ma. 

"  Well,  Prissy  got  to  be  nigh  on  to  eighteen,  an'  she  had  a  lot 
o1  beaux,  an'  plenty  o'  good  honest  fellows  would  ha'  ben  glad  an' 
proud  to  marry  her,  though  she  hadn't  a  bit  o'  money,  she  was 
that  pritty  an'  sweet  an'  cute.  But  she  didn't,  somehow,  take  to 
none  on  'em  ;  she  was  gentle  an'  sweet-spoken  to  em',  an'  awful 
sorry  when  she  thought  she'd  hurt  their  feelin's.  But  she  says, 
says  she  to  me,  many's  the  time, '  But  I  don't  want  to  many  'em', 
Eunice,  an'  why  don't  they  let  me  alone?  I  want  to  stay  with 
you  an'  ma,'  says  she.  But  bimeby  there  come  a  young  man  to 
Wellsville,  a-boardin'  to  Miss  Cap'n  Hall's.  He  was  a  fishin'  an' 
shootin'  feller;  had  a  great  lot  o'  baggage — fish- poles  that  all 
took  to  pieces  an'  shet  up,  an'  a  gun,  an'  bags  to  put  his  birds  in 
when  he  shot  'em,  an'  baskets  to  hold  his  shiners  an'  punkin- 
seeds  and  bull-heads.  He  was  a  real  well-favored  young  man,  an' 
nice-mannered ;  an'  Prissy  she  got  acquainted  with  him  one  day 
when  he  went  to  see  Creeshy  Hall,  an'  she  took  to  him  powerful, 
an'  he  jest  followed  her  aroun'  like  her  shadder,  or  like  Mary's 


34  COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-POT. 

lamb  in  the  hymn,  an  1  never  see  any  one  set  so  much  by  an- 
other as  he  seemed  to  set  by  our  Prissy.  Wa'al,  of  course  I 
couldn't  shet  my  eyes  to  it;  an'  so  I  went  to  Miss  Cap'n  Hall's 
an'  I  asked  all  about  their  new  boarder — his  name  was  Rice,  Ar- 
nold Rice — an'  she  told  me  he  b'longed  to  a  real  good  respectable 
family  in  Prov'dence.  His  father  was  a  lawyer,  an"  Miss  Hall 
-aid  she'd  done  sewin'  for  his  folks,  an'  knew  'em  real  well;  an' 
she  said  they  was  oitherdox,  an'  in  good  standin'  in  the  Baptist 
Church,  an'  there  warn't  nothin'  sly,  or  sneakin'  or  underhan',  in 
any  o'  the  tribe.  So  that  settled  me,  an'  I  jest  give  myself  up  to 
lookin'  at  that  j nitty  pair,  an'  watchin'  their  love  story — a  better 
one  than  any  I  ever  read  in  a  book. 

"  It's  a  great  while  ago  now,  but  somehow  I  can  see  it  plain  as 
print  this  minnit.  He  used  to  come  walkin'  home  with  her  sum- 
mer a'ternoons,  an'  I'd  set  at  the  winder  to  watch  'em — him  so 
tall  an'  dark-compiected  an'  strong  an'  bold-lookin',  an'  her  so  lit- 
tle an'  fair  an'  scary.  He'd  look  down  on  her  with  sech  a  look  in 
his  eyes,  seemed  's  though  he  could  eat  her  right  up;  an'  she'd 
just  give  little  bits  o'  peeks  up  at  him,  shy  an'  frightened  like. 
'Twas  a  pritty  sight,  an'  I  never  got  tired  o'  lookin'  at  it.  I  never 
asked  Prissy  no  questions;  I  knew  she'd  tell  me  when  she  was 
ready.  Things  had  gone  <>n  so  for 'bout  all  summer,  when  Cousin 
'Lias  Bacon  he  writ  a  letter  to  ma,  an'  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't 
take  his  little  boy  Moses  an'  keep  him  a  spell.  His  ma  was  weak- 
ly an1  run  down,  an'  she  couldn't  stan'  much;  an'  Mosey  was  a 
real  boy,  kitin'  aroun'  an'  hollerin'  an'  stavin',  an'  made  his  ma 
'most  crazy.  So  ma  an' me  we  talked  ii  over,  an' we  guessed  we'd 
better  have  the  young  "lie  come.  Cousin  'Lias  was  a  queer  fish, 
an'  never  had  much  to  do  with  his  folks.  He  had  a  good  deal  o' 
money  laid  away,  so  'twas  thought,  but  lie  never  give  none  away. 
Howsomevcr,  his  wife  was  a  real  nice  woman,  an'  a  long-suff'rin' 
one  too,  for  she'd  had  a  pritty  bard  row  to  hoc  with  'Lias  Bacon, 


COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-POT.  35 

I  can  tell  ye,  an'  we  felt  for  her,  me  an'  ma.  So  we  writ  back 
that  he  might  send  the  boy  along,  an'  next  week  the  little  chap 
came. 

"He  was  good  enough,  as  boys  go,  but  he  was  up  to  his  capers, 
an'  he  'most  raised  the  roof  o'  the  old  farm-house  with  his  noise 
an'  his  didos.  He  was  a  little  feller,  on'y  about  five  years  old, 
but,  oh !  how  he  could  yell  an'  screech  !  He  ransacked  the  hull 
house  from  garrit  to  sullar,  an'  there  warn't  nothin'  he  didn't 
peek  into  an'  pry  into.  He  used  to  spend  hours  a-playin'  up  in 
the  attic  under  the  rafters,  an'  he  hid  away  his  little  belongin's 
there,  an'  called  it  his  '  cubby-house.' 

"  Well,  he'd  ben  to  our  house  nigh  on  to  three  weeks,  when 
one  day  we  got  a  letter  from  'Lias  sayiu'  that  his  wife  was  real 
bad,  she'd  got  some  kind  o'  liver,  an'  the  doctors  thought  she  was 
dang'rous,  so  wouldn't  me  an'  ma  come  over  an'  help  miss  her  '. 
He  said  he  guessed  we  needn't  fetch  Mosey,  'cause  it  might  worry 
Harri't  (that  was  his  wife's  name).  So  me  an'  ma  we  made  our 
minds  right  up  to  go,  an'  we  thought  we'd  take  Prissy  too,  for 
some  way  it  didn't  look  jest  right  to  leave  a  young  slip  like  that 
alone,  an'  she  courtin'  too.  So  we  told  her  she'd  better  put  up 
her  things  an'  come  along,  and  we'd  get  old  Miss  Talcott  to  stay 
to  the  farm  an'  look  to  Mosey  while  we  was  gone.  Prissy  didn't 
like  the  idee  overmuch,  but  she  was  allers  gentle  an'  easy  an'  will- 
in'  to  mind,  an'  so  she  got  ready  an'  we  went  off.  She  contrived 
to  see  Arnold  'fore  she  wTent,  an'  she  come  in  from  her  confab 
with  him  as  red  as  a  rose,  an'  her  eyes  jest  shinin',  so  I  knew  he'd 
said  some  real  sweet  things  to  her,  an'  every  thing  was  right. 

"When  we  got  to  'Lias's  we  found  Cousin  Harri't  pritty  bad, 
an'  we  staid  a  week.  Me  an'  ma  liked  it,  for  'twas  a  change  from 
farm-work,  an'  we  was  doin'  good  too,  an'  that  allers  makes  folks 
feel  comfortable.  But  Priss  she  was  humsick,  an'  I  knew  the 
reason  why  ;  so  jest  as  soon  as  Harri't  chirked  up  a  little  an'  took 


36  COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-TOT. 

to  her  vittles,  an1  began  to  set  up  an'  see  to  things,  T  told  ma  we'd 
better  be  movin'.  So  we  packed  our  duds  an'  said  our  says,  an' 
come  off.  'Lias  didn't  say  much,  but  then  that  was  his  way,  an' 
I  knew  lie  felt  thank  ye  ma'am,  if  he  didn't  say  so.  An'  Harri't 
she  went  on  enough  for  both,  'bout  how  good  we  was,  an'  how 
she  never  'd  'a  got  up  without  us,  an'  how  she  never  could  forgit, 
an'  so  on,  an'  so  on. 

"  Well,  we  come  off,  an'  Prissy  she  brightened  right  straight 
up  as  soon  as  we  got  under  way,  an'  she  laffed  an'  chattered  like 
a  chippin'-squir'l.  When  we  got  to  the  farm  'twas  near  sundown, 
but  the  old  Teller  House  looked  real  bright  an'  hum-like,  an' 
Priss  she  jumped  out  real  spry,  an'  says  she,  a-clappin'  her  hands, 
'Oh,  I'm  so  glad  I'm  to  hum  !'  Old  Miss  Talcott  she'd  ben  real 
trusty  an'  seen  to  things,  an'  took  good  care  o'  Mosey.  He  come 
a-runnin'  up  to  see  us,  with  his  face  jest  a  mess  o'  dirt,  an'  his 
white  hair  a-stickin'  through  the  holes  in  the  straw  hat  that  was 
jest  bought  afore  we  went  away.  He'd  ben  a'ter  the  cows  with 
Enoch.  Miss  Talcott  said  he  went  cv'rv  day,  an'  he'd  took  the 
awfullest  shine  to  old  Buttercup,  the  crumpled-horn  cow,  an'  he 
called  her  '  Butty,'  an'  said  she  was  his'n,  an'  he  was  agoin'  to 
take  her  hum  to  show  pa  an'  ma.  Prissy  she  run  up-stairs,  an'  1 
knew  she  was  sprucin'  up  a  bit  in  case  somebody  should  drop  in, 
an'  a'ter  a  spell  she  came  down  with  her  blue  print  on,  an'  her 
hair  all  smooth  an'  shiny.  But  somebody  didn't  come,  an'  the 
blue  print  was  all  for  nothin'. 

"The  next  mornin'  Creeshy  Hall  went  by  the  house,  an'  I  was 
in  the  yard.  She  see  me,  an'  she  stopped  an'  asked  me  'bout 
Cousin  Harri't,  an'  then,  says  she,  'Queer  'bout  Arnold  Rice,  ain't 
it?'  An'  says  I,  'What  'bout  him?'  An'  says  she,  'Why  he's 
gone  off,  an'  never  said  nothin',  or  let  on  that  he  was  goin'  till 
the  last  minnit,  an1  things  looks  real  bad.'  Then  she  went  on  to 
tell  how  she  an'  Miss  Jlall  they  was  out  Friday  a'ternoon  to  'par- 


COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-POT.  :;7 

atory  lectur',  an'  when  they  come  home  Arnold  Itice  warn't  there, 
but  he'd  left  a  scrap  of  a  letter  tellin'  'em  he  had  to  go  off  sudden, 
an'  he'd  write  soon  as  he  could.  'But  he  ain't  never  writ  again,' 
she  says,  'an'  folks  see  him  go  off  in  the  cars  with  a  woman,  an1 
he  kissed  her  when  they  fust  met,  an'  some  people  thinks  she  was 
his  wife,  an' — ' 

"  She  was  goin'  on  very  glib,  when  I  heerd  a  little  rustlin' 
sound  ahind  me,  an'  I  looked  aroun'  quick,  an'  there  was  my 
Prissy  slippin'  down  into  a  little  limp  heap  on  the  floor,  right  by 
my  side,  with  her  little  ban's  a-holdin'  to  my  dress.  1  knew  she 
heerd  it  all,  an'  I  took  her  up  an'  carried  her  into  the  settin'-roora 
an'  put  her  on  the  sofy,  an'  I  shet  out  Creeshy  Hall  an'  all  the 
world  but  me  an'  ma,  an'  we  took  care  of  our  poor  little  lamb. 

"She  warn't  the  kind  that  bears  up  agin  sech  things.  She 
hadn't  much  sperrit,  I  s'pose.  She  was  jest  a  soft,  lovin',  clingin' 
little  thing,  an'  she  give  right  up  now.  Hours  an'  hours  she'd 
lay  an'  cry,  cry,  cry,  all  to  her  own  self,  very  softly,  till  I  thought 
it  would  break  my  heart.  We  never  heerd  nothin'  more  of  Ar- 
nold Rice.  I  s'pose — I've  thought  so  sence,  time  an'  time  again 
— that  we  ought  to  ha'  writ  to  his  folks  or  suthin',  but  Prissy  she 
give  right  up  herself,  an'  we  kind  o'  follered  her  lead,  an'  never 
thought  things  could  be  helped.  She  never  would  have  him 
blamed.  If  me  an'  ma  said  anything  agin  him — an'  we  couldn't 
help  it  sometimes,  we  got  so  riled  up — she'd  cry  harder,  an'  say, 
■'Don't!  don't!  I  can't  bear  it.  He's  on'y  changed  his  mind,  an' 
I  love  him  jest  as  much.'  Oh,  how  thin  an'  peaked  an'  scrawny 
that  little  cretur  did  git! — her  face  so  white  an'  small,  whiter  an' 
littler  ev'ry  day.  But  her  eyes  was  the  wust.  She  cried  so  much 
that  they  was  allers  red  an'  swelled  up,  an'  the  blue  seemed  to 
wash  all  out  on  'em.  An'  bimeby  they  hurt  her  so  she  had  to 
set  in  a  dark  room  all  the  time,  an'  couldn't  a-bear  the  teentvcst 
speck  o'  light.     We  sent  for  old  Dr.  Terry,  an'  he  looked  at  her, 


911 


3S  COUSIN  EUNICE'S   CHEAM-POT. 

an'  felt  on  her,  an'  talked  to  her;  an'  then  he  come  out  of  the 
room,  an'  he  beckoned  to  me;  an'  we  went  into  the  kitchen,  an' 
says  lie  to  me,  'Her  eyes  is  very  had,  an'  she  ought  to  go  to  a 
eye-doctor  to  Bost'n.  I  don't  know  enough  myself,' says  he, 
"bout  seek  things,  an'  there  ain't  no  time  to  be  lost.'  An'  he 
tried  to  explain  things  to  me,  how  the  optercles  or  suthin'  was 
all  askew  an'  out  o'  kilter,  but  I  didn't  pay  much  'tention  to  that 
part  of  it,  I  was  so  took  up  with  thinkin'  how  we  could  send  her 
to  Bost'n.  I  knowed  'twould  cost  a  mint  o'  money,  an'  we  was 
poor  enough,  ye  know.  I  talked  it  all  over  with  ma,  an'  we  cried 
a  little,  an'  prayed  a  good  deal,  an1  bimeby  it  come  into  our  heads 
to  try  Cousin  'Lias. 

"  We  hadn't  no  great  hopes,  but  we  writ  him  a  letter,  an'  we 
telled  him  all  'bout  Prissy,  an'  asked  him  if  he  couldn't  help  us. 
An'  there  come  a  answer  in  a  few  days,  kind  o'  grumpy  an'  crus- 
ty— for  that  was  'Lias's  way — but  it  had  a  fifty-dollar  note  in  it. 
You  better  b'l'eve  we  was  glad  that  day,  me  an'  ma.  We  hadn't 
telled  Prissy  anything  'bout  what  the  doctor  'd  said ;  but  now 
we  went  to  her  an'  we  out  with  the  hull  story,  an'  showed  her 
the  money.  But  it  didn't  brighten  up  the  little  white  mite  of  a 
face  or  make  the  old  laff  come  we  missed  so  dreadful  bad.  She 
on'y  kind  o'  sighed,  an'  says,  'I  don't  care  for  my  eyes  now,  but 
if  you  want  me  to  be  cured,  I'll  do  anything  for  you  an'  Eunice, 
ma;  you're  so  good  to  your  little  Priss !' 

"Well,  we  took  the  fifty -dollar  note  an'  we  put  it  into  Prissy's 
work-box,  an'  we  made  up  our  minds  we'd  start  right  off  the  nex' 
day  but  one  for  Bost'n  to  see  the  eye-doctor.  Thai  was  in  the 
mornin'  'bout  ten  o'clock.  I  reelect  a'ter  I  put  the  money  in 
the  work-box  an'  stood  it  on  the  bureau  in  ma's  bedroom,  I  went 
out  to  the  kitchen  to  make  some  blackb'ry  pie, ,  an'  all  the  time 
I  was  siftiu'  in  sugar  an'  rollin'  crust  an'  greasin'  my  pair-  !  was 
a-thinkin'  an'  thinkin'  o'  that  money  an'  the  Bost'n  doctor.     1 


CO  USIN  EUNICE '  S   (  UK.  1 3f-P< )  T.  3  9 

never  can  smell  stewed  blackb'ries  to  this  day,  much  more  see  a 
pie  with  the  black-lookin'  juice  a-soozin'  out  through  the  yeller 
crust,  'thout  thinkin'  o'  that  day,  o'  little  Prissy,  an'  the  fifty- 
dollar  note. 

"  'Twas  that  evenin'  me  an'  ma  was  sittin'  in  the  keepin'-room, 
an'  Prissy  a-layin'  down  on  the  sofy,  when  ma  she  says,  'Eunice, 
I  'most  can't  b'leve  it's  true  'bout  'Lias's  sendin'  that  money. 
He's  a  near  man,  'Lias  is,  an'  it's  like  pullin'  his  teeth  to  git 
money  out  o'  him.  Do  bring  rne  that  note,  an'  make  it  seem 
kind  o'  real.'  I  laffed  a  little,  an'  says  I,  '  Well,  ma,  seein's 
b'l'evin' ;'  an'  I  went  to  the  bureau  in  the  nex'  room,  an'  opened 
the  work-box  to  take  out  the  note ;  but — 'twarn't  there  ! 

"I  turned  over  the  things,  the  spools  an'  reels  an'  needles  an' 
wax  ;  I  opened  the  little  boxes,  an'  lifted  the  lids,  an'  looked  an' 
looked  an'  looked.     But  it  warn't  there. 

" '  Ma,'  I  called  out,  kind  o'  quick  an'  sharp  like,  '  have  you 
took  that  money?' 

"  '  Took  the  money  !'  says  ma,  a-gittin'  up  an'  comin'  into  the 
bedroom.     '  What  do  ye  mean,  Eunice?' 

"'Why,'  says  I,  all  out  o'  breath  an'  p'intin'  to  the  mussed-up 
work-box,  '  I  mean  the  money's  gone — Prissy's  money.' 

"  '  It  can't  be,'  says  ma.  '  You  never  could  find  anythin'  'cept 
it  was  right  under  your  nose,'  says  she  ;  but  her  voice  was  kind 
o'  quavery,  an'  her  hands  shook  as  she  turned  over  the  things  in 
•the  box  an'  hustled  'em  out  on  the  bureau.  It  didn't  do  no 
good :  the  note  was  gone. 

"At  fust  we  couldn't  do  nothin'  but  mourn  an'  lament  an'  run 
aroun'  like  crazy  folks;  but  bimeby  we  thought  o'  little  Mosey. 
'That  boy's  took  it,'  says  ma;  'I  knowed  it  all  the  time;'  an' 
she  run  out  into  the  kitchen  an'  ketched  up  Mosey,  who  was 
layin'  on  the  floor  with  the  dog,  an'  she  shook  him  one  way  an' 
then  t'other,  an'  fetched  him  into  the  bedroom,  an'  she  an'  me, 


40  COUSIX  FJ'XWE'S  CREAM-TOT. 

both  to  once,  we  says,  '  "What  have  you  gone  an'  done  with  dear 
Cousin  Prissy's  money?'     An'  Mosey  he  yelled  an'  screeched,  an1 

kicked  an'  scratched  an'  bit,  an'  we  couldn't  git  nothin'  out  on 
him  till  Prissy  she  called  him  (he  allers  took  to  Prissy — T  don't 
know  who  didn't),  an'  he  went  up  to  her  an'  laid  his  head  down 
in  her  lap,  an'  he  says,  'Mosey  never  took  no  money.  Mosey 
good  boy.  On'y  took  pritty  paper  out  o'  Pwissy's  box.'  Me 
an'  ma  was  jesl  goin'  to  up  an'  speak  agin,  but  Prissy  she  shook 
her  head  at  us,  an'  says  she,  very  soft  an'  sweet,  a-strokin'  his  mop 
o'  yeller  frizzy  hair,  'An'  what  did  Mosey  do  with  the  pritty 
paper  ?'  '  Mosey  give  it  to  Butty,  poo'  ole  mooly  cow.  All 
et  up  now,  down  in  Butty's  tummy.' 

"Oh,  young  people,  young  people,  if  you  on'y  knowed  how  I 
felt  then  !  I  see  it  all  afore  me,  how  that  limb  of  a  boy  had  gone 
an'  got  that  precious  bill — the  bill  that  was  to  give  back  Prissy's 
blue  bright  eyes  that  the  sight  was  leavin'  so  fast;  an'  how  he'd 
took  it  out  to  the  barn-yard  to  play  with,  an'  then  tucked  it  into 
old  Buttercup's  mouth,  an'  it  had  gone,  gone,  gone!  I  can't 
ree'lect  any  more  'bout  that  night  ;  it*s  too  dark  an'  dreadful  to 
think  of.  An'  the  days  that  come  nex',  they  was  all  dreadful 
too.  We  couldn't  git  no  light;  we  dassn't  ask  Cousin  'Lias  for 
more  money,  though  it  was  his  own  flesh  an'  blood  that  had  lost 
the  bill  he  sent  us,  an'  Prissy's  eyes  got  wuss,  an'  she  couldn't 
see  much  to  speak  of,  an'  we  was  'way,  'way  down  in  the  deeps. 
Prissv  she  was  sweet  an'  patient.  She  see  we  was  cross  to  Mosey 
— we  couldn't  help  it,  could  we  now? — an'  so  she  made  it  up  to 
him  by  cossetin'  an'  cuddlin'  him,  an'  keepiif  him  with  her  hours 
to  a  time  ;  an'  he  took  to  her  more  an'  more,  an'  'twas  a  real  cute 
sighl  to  see  him  curled  up  on  the  sofy  by  her  side, his  fat  hard 
red  cheek  a-pressed  np  to  her  white  thin  face,  an'  his  little  brown 
ban'  a-strokin'  her  hair,  an'  him  a-eallin'  her,  Dee-e-ear  Pwissy, 
pwitty  Pwissy,  mine  owny-doney  Pwissy." 


COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CEEAM-POT.  41 

"One  day  I  was  sittin'  in  the  kitchen  peelin'  apples  for  a  pan 
dowdy,  an'  a-listenin'  to  Priss  an'  Mosey  in  the  nex'  room.  He 
was  mighty  lovin'  that  day,  an'  he  called  her  all  the  cunnin'esl 
names  yon  ever  heard  on,  an'  bimeby  lie  says,  says  he,  '  Oh,  dar- 
lin' !'  an'  then  Prissy  she  up  an'  bust  out  cryin',  an'  she  says,  '  Oh, 
Mosey!  Mosey!  don't  never,  never  call  me  your  darlin','  says  she. 
An'  I  knowed  then  she  was  thinkin'  o'  Arnold  Rice,  an'  what 
names  he  used  to  call  her,  an'  I  tell  ye  I  thought  of  a  few  nanus 
I'd  like  to  call  him!  An'  I  was  agoin'  in  to  see  if  I  could  com- 
fort her  any,  but  I  heerd  Mosey  a-kissin'  her  an'  a-sayin',  'Don't 
ky,  don't  ky ;  Mosey  git  'oo  pwitty  things ;'  an'  he  slipped  down 
off  the  sofy  an'  went  a-runnin'  up-stairs. 

"  So  I  says  to  myself,  '  He's  the  best  a'ter  all.  lie's  little,  an' 
she  don't  mind  him,  an'  he's  got  sech  little  cunnin'  ways,  it  helps 
her  poor  sore  little  heart.'  So  I  kep'  where  I  was,  an'  I  heerd 
Mosey  a-comin'  down  the  stairs,  a-stompin'  as  usual  with  his  little 
cowhide  boots  he  was  so  proud  on  :  an'  he  come  into  the  keepin'- 
room,  an'  he  kep'  makin'  a  kind  o'  mooin'  noise.  '  Moo-o,'  says 
he;  'here  old  cow  comin'  Pwissy ;'  an'  then  they  goes  to  talkin', 
an'  says  she,  '  Where  did  you  get  this  ?  I  ain't  seen  it  sencc  I 
was  a  little  girl.'  An'  says  he,  'In  my  cubby-house  up  'tairs. 
This  ole  Butty,  poo'  mooly  cow.'  Then  I  heerd  a  kind  o'  rattlin' 
noise,  an'  then  a  rustlin'  like  paper,  an'  then  nothin'  at  all  for  a 
minute,  when  sudden  there  come  a  kind  o'  cry,  such  a  queer,  sharp, 
but  shaky  cry  that  I  dropped  my  knife  an'  the  apples  an'  run  into 
the  nex'  room,  an' —     Well,  this  is  the  first  thing  I  saw." 

Unrolling  a  large  silk  handkerchief,  Cousin  Eunice  placed  upon 
the  table,  around  which  we  crowded  at  once,  a  piece  of  pottery. 
It  was  a  creamer  of  the  old  marbled  or  tortoise-shell  ware  in  the 
form  of  a  cow,  its  curled  tail  making  the  handle,  its  nose  the 
spout.     (See  111.  1.) 

"This  cream -pot,"  went  on  the  old  lady,  "had  been  in  our 


42  COUSIN  EUNICE'S   CREAM-POT. 

fam'ly  a  good  spell,  but  it  got  put  away,  an'  I  hadn't  seen  it  no 
more  'n  Prissy  had  for  a  long-  time.  It  was  a-settin'  on  the  little 
stand  by  the  sofy  now,  an'  right  by  it,  all  mussed  up  an'  crumpled, 
was  Cousin  'Lias's  fifty-dollar  note.  I  ketched  it  up,  I  smoothed 
it  out,  I  forgot  little  Priss.  It  was  hull,  it  was  there  all  safe  an'. 
soun',  an'  I  could  ha'  cried  with  joy.  But  I  heerd  a  half  sob,  a 
kind  o'  chokin'  sound,  an'  I  looked  round  quick  at  the  little  sister 
whose  eyes  would  now  be  saved  to  me  an'  ma. 

"  She  warn't  lookin'  at  the  note,  she  warn't  lookin'  at  me,  she 
warn't  thinkin',  I'd  ha'  bet,  o'  anythin'  short  o'  heaven  an'  ever- 
lastin'  day.  She  lay  a-smilin'  sech  a  smile,  an'  a-holdin'  close  up 
to  her  poor  half-blind  eyes  some  pieces  o'  paper  I  couldn't  make 
nothin'  on. 

' '  What  ails  ye  V  I  says,  frightened  like  ;  '  what  ye  got,  Prissy?' 

"She  held  the  papers  out  to  me,  all  tored  an'  creasy,  an'  she 
says,  a-laffin'  right  out  like  a  bird,  says  she,  '  He  writ  it,  Arnold 
did,  my  own  true  good  Arnold,  the  very  day  he  went  off.  See, 
it  says  "the  28th,"  an'  that  was  the  time,  you  know  —  an'  he 
loved  me  all  the  time.' 

"  I  pieced  out  the  scraps,  an'  spelled  out  the  words — how  on 
airth  did  she  ever  do  it  with  her  poor  red  eyes? — an'  it  rccly  was 
a  note  Arnold  Rice  had  writ  the  day  he  went  off,  sayin'  he  was 
called  hum  to  his  father,  wdio  was  took  with  typher  fever,  an'  how 
he'd  got  to  go  that  very  hour  in  the  train  with  his  sister,  who  was 
goin'  through  from  Boston,  an1  how  he  loved  her,  an'  wanted  her 
to  marry  him,  an'  would  she,  an1  could  she,  an  when  would  she 
write  to  him,  an' —  Oh,  I  can't  ree'lect  it  all;  'twas  jest  a  real 
lovedettcr,  ye  know.  An1  oh,  sech  a  time.  Ma  come  in,  an'  we 
tried  to  tell  her,  an'  we  all  talked  to  once,  an'  Mosey  he  undertook 
to  say  as  how  he  fed  old  Butty  with  'pwitty  papers  in  her  little 
tummy.'  He'd  rolled  'em  up  an'  tucked  'em  into  the  hole  in  the 
top  here — ye  see  the  lid  lifts  off;  an'  when  he  was  a-talkin'  o'  old 


COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-POT.  43 

Butty,  the  mooly  cow,  he  meant  this  cream-pot  he'd  got  hid  away 
up  garrit,  an'  not  old  Buttercup  in  the  barn-yard. 

"  Well,  we  laffed  an'  we  cried,  an'  we  kissed  each  other,  an'  we 
hugged  Mosey ;  an'  Priss,  her  pritty  pale  face  all  smiles  an'  light, 
s"he  kep'  a-sayin'  over  an'  agin, '  I  knovved  he  loved  me  ;  I  kimu  ed 
it  all  the  time.'  Poor  little  cretur !  what  had  she  cried  her  eyes 
out  for,  if  she  knowed  that,  I'd  like  to  know  1  But  jest  as  Ave 
was  goin'  on  in  a  crazy,  loony  kind  o'  way,  like  cats  in  caniption 
fits,  the  side  door  opened,  an'  in  flew  Miss  Cap'n  Hall.  She  didn't 
seem  to  take  no  notice  of  our  goin's-on.  Her  face  was  red,  an' 
she  was  that  out  o'  breath  she  couldn't  hardly  speak ;  an'  savs 
she,  a-gaspin'  an'  chokin',  'Oh,  Miss  Wilcox!  Oh,  Eunice!  Oh, 
Priscilly  !  I  got  a  letter  from  Prov'dence  from  Mr.  Arnold's  ma. 
An'  he's  been  sick — awful  sick ;  he  took  the  fever  from  his  pa, 
an'  he's  been  dang'rous,  an'  they  thought  he  wouldn't  git  up ; 
but  he  has,  an'  she's  writ  to  say  he's  settin'  up,  an',jest  as  soon  as 
he  can  travel  he's  comin'  to  Wellsville,  where — jest  hark  to  this, 
Priscilly,  you  poor  little  weed  you  ! — where,  says  his  ma,  he  seems 
ter  've  left  his  heart.  Who's  got  his  heart,  Prissy,  you  dear,  bless- 
ed, abused,  sickly  little — '  But  we  didn't  ketch  the  last  words, 
because  of  the  hearty  smacks  she  put  on  Priss's  thin  cheeks,  as 
she  hugged  and  squeezed  her  to  her  honest  old  heart.  She  was 
allers  a  good  soul,  Mary  Ann  Hall. 

"But  how  I  am  spinnin'  this  out!  'Fore  we  got  fixed  up  for 
Bost'n  the  red  eyes  got  better,  an'  old  Dr.  Terry  he  said  he 
guessed  he'd  wait,  'f  he  was  us,  an'  see  'f  Priss  didn't  git  well  her- 
self, without  a  eye-doctor;  an'  sure  enough  she  did,  an'  by  the 
time  Arnold  Rice  come  on  from  Prov'dence  the  eyes  was  jest  vi'- 
lets  agin,  blue  an'  sweet  an'  soft.  An'  wre  sent  the  fifty-dollar 
note  back  to  Cousin  'Lias ;  but  it  come  trav'Iin'  back  agin, 
d'rected  to  Miss  Priscilly  Wilcox,  for  a  weddin'  present.  For 
there  was  a  weddin'  that  very  fall,  an'  Mosey  had  a  bran'-new  but- 


44  COUSIN  EUNICE'S  CREAM-POT. 

ternut  suit  o'  clo'es  to  wear  to  it,  an'  stood  right  up  by  the  bride, 
a-snugglin'  his  yeller  head  up  agin  her,  till  old  Parson  Cook  said, 
'What  God's  jined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder,'  an'  Prissy 
was  Miss  Arnold  Rice. 

"  W  ell,  Parson  Cook  he  allers  said — IVe  heerd  him  time  an' 
agin— that  'twas. a  wonderful  prov'dence  all  I  ben  a-tellin'  ye,  an 
int'position,  ye  know,  partic'lar  'bout  the  findin'  the  letter  an'  the 
money  in  the  old  cream-pot.  But  somehow  I  never  could  make 
it  seem  that  way,  though  I  don't  throw  no  disrespect  on  Prov'- 
dence. Ye  see,  what  was  the  use  o'  that  kind  o'  int'position  jest 
then  ?  If  Mosey  hadn't  fetched  that  crock'ry  cow  down,  an'  the 
letter  turned  up,  why,  Mrs.  Cap'n  Hall  would  ha'  ben  in  in  a  jiffy 
an'  set  things  right ;  an'  if  she  hadn't  come,  why,  Arnold  hisself 
would  ha'  ben  there  in  a  few  days,  an'  then  'twould  a'  ben  all 
right.  But  then  you  may  say,  'But  there's  the  money,  how  'bout 
that?'  Well,  what  was  the  use  o'  the  money,  's  long  as  Prissy's 
eyes  got  well'  thout  it?  I  dono  —  I  don't  like  to  crit'eise,  but 
seems  's  if  it  might  ha'  ben  fixed  diff'ent,  an'  the  cow  found  'fore 
we  got  all  tuckered  out  with  worry  an'  trouble,  'stead  o'  turniir 
up  jest  when  Ave  didn't  need  her  to  set  things  straight.  But  I 
s'pose  it's  all  right;  tenneratc,  it's  all  gone  an'  passed,  an'  'little 
Prissy'  's  got  a  grandson — her  son  Jabez's  youngest  boy — that 
looks  the  very  picter  o'  little  Mosey,  yeller  hair  an'  all,  an'  I'm 
savin'  up  this  cream-pot  for  him." 


IV. 

POTTERY  AND  POETRY. 

Our  topic  for  an  evening  in  February — it  was  near  Valentine's 
day,  which  I  think  suggested  the  subject — was  Pottery  and  Po- 
etry.    Mr.  Chase  read  us  the  following  paper : 

"Pottery  and  poetry  do  not  seem  very  closely  allied.  Indeed 
one  would  hardly  think  they  had  anything  in  common,  save  a  cer- 
tain alliterative  likeness  in  the  sound  of  the  two  words.  But  the 
ceramic  art  has  had  its  poets. 

"There  is  an  ode  attributed  to  Homer,  entitled  'The  Furnace,' 
which  is  somewhat  freely  translated  by  Cowper,  and  prefaced 
thus :  '  Certain  potters,  while  they  were  busy  in  baking  their  ware, 
seeing  Homer  at  a  small  distance,  and  having  heard  much  said  of 
his  wisdom,  called  to  him,  and  promised  him  a  present  of  their 
commodity,  and  of  such  other  things  as  they  could  afford,  if  he 
would  sing  to  them,  when  he  sang  as  follows.'     The  ode  begins : 

'  Pay  me  my  price,  potters  !  and  I  will  sing. 
Attend,  0  Pallas  !  and  with  lifted  arm 
Protect  their  oven :  let  the  cups  and  all 
The  sacred  vessels  blacken  well,  and,  baked 
With  good  success,  yield  them  both  fair  renown 
And  profit.' 

"The  poet  then  threatens  the  potters  with  dire  judgments  in 
case  they  do  not  keep  faith  with  him  : 

'  May  neither  house  nor  vestibule  escape! 
May  ye  lament  to  see  confusion  mar 


46  POTTERY  AND  TOETRY. 

And  mingle  the  wl  ole  labor  of  your  hands! 
And  may  a  sound  fili  all  your  oven,  such 
As  of  a  horse  grinding  his  provender, 
While  all  your  pots  and  flagons  bounce  within.' 

"  The  Chinese  poets  have  dwelt  largely  upon  this  inspiring 
theme.  One,  whose  name  has  not  been  handed  down  to  us, 
\\  rote,  in  an  ode  addressed  to  the  emperor, 

'  At  Tai  they  make  a  light,  solid  porcelain ;  when  it  is  struck  it  gives  out  a 
plaintive  sound  like  the  jade  cups  of  King-te-tchin.  The  white  cups  of  your 
Lordship  efface  the  whiteness  of  snow :  send  me  immediately  one  of  these 
cups  to  my  study.' 

"  The  point  and  directness  of  the  last  allusion  are  admirable. 
Another  sings  of  porcelain  '  blue  as  the  sky,  brilliant  as  a  mirror, 
thin  as  paper,  sonorous  as  a  ting.' 

"The  emperor  Kien  Long,  who  ascended  the  throne  in  1736, 
was  a  famous  poet.  He  wrote  an  ode  upon  the  tea-plant,  lines 
from  which  are  often  found  upon  teapots  and  cups.  The  fol- 
lowing is  from  a  French  translation  given  by  Jacquemart : 

'At  the  same  time  put  upon  a  moderate  fire  a  three-legged  vase,  of  which 
the  color  and  the  form  indicate  its  long  services;  till  it  with  clean  water  of 
melted  snow;  heat  the  water  to  the  degree  necessary  to  blanch  the  fish  or 
redden  the  crab;  pour  it  in  a  cup,  made  of  the  earth  of  Yue,  upon  the  tender 
leaves  of  a  choice  tea;  leave  it  in  repose  until  the  vapors  which  first  rise  in 
abundance  form  thick  clouds,  then  gradually  disperse  till  there  is  onh  a  light 
fog  upon  the  surface;  then  quaff  without  precipitation  this  delicious  liquor; 
it  is  to  work  effectually  to  dismiss  the  five  subjects  of  anxiety  which  gener- 
ally come  to  assail  us.' 

"  The  poem  ends  thus: 

'But  I  hear  them  sounding  the  watch.  Night  increases  its  coolness;  al- 
ready the  moon's  rays  penetrate  through  the  slits  of  my  tent  and  strike  with 
their  lustre  the  few  objects  of  furniture  which  decorate  it.     I  find  myself 


Er"..'  '•*: 


5.  The  Soft-Soap  Cup:  page  81. 

[Liverpool  cream-ware  :  black  print.] 


6.  A  Bit  of  Cynthia's  Romance:  page  87. 

[Cream-ware  :  painted  :  on  the  back,  Winter  Hellebore:  impressed  mark.  HeRCULANEUM.] 


POTTERY  AND  rOETUY.  49 

without  anxiety  and  without  fatigue;  my  stomach  is  at  ease,  and  I  can  with- 
out fear  give  myself  up  to  repose.  It  is  thus,  according  to  my  little  capacity, 
that  I  have  made  these  verses  at  the  young  spring  of  the  tenth  moon  of  the 
year  ping-yu  (1*746)  of  my  reign.' 

"There  lived  in  the  reign  of  Chin-Tsong,  Wan-li  period  (1573- 
1619),  a  poet  named  Ou.  But  he  renounced  rhyme  and  such 
frivolities,  retired  from  the  world  and  began  the  manufacture  of 
porcelain.  His  work  was  done  in  secret,  but  his  productions  were 
eagerly  sought  after.  He  made  '  large  cups,  ornamented  with  red 
clouds,  brilliant  as  vermilion,'  and  also  'egg-shell  cups  of  daz- 
zling whiteness,  and  so  fine  that  some  of  them  weighed  only  half 
a  chou !' 

"  One  seems  to  marvel  more  at  this  statement  than  if  aware  of 
the  exact  '  heft ' — to  use  a  homely  New  England  expression — of 
that  mysterious  'chou.'  He  made,  too,  vases,  some  of  pale-blue, 
some  purple,  and  others  of  the  color  lfeuille  morte."1  And  upon 
each  article  which  he  made  were  graven  in  the  paste  Chinese 
characters,  which,  being  translated,  read — '  The  old  man  Ou,  who 
lives  in  solitude.' 

"  Those  curious  little  bottles  or  vases  found  in  Egypt,  and 
probably  made  by  the  Chinese  some  centuries  ago,  bear  quite  fre- 
quently characters  which  are  said  to  be  extracts  from  Chinese 
poems  of  old  times.  One  is  a  line  from  a  sonnet  by  Wang- Wei 
(of  course  you  are  familiar  with  his  sonnets),  and  says  '  The  moon 
shines  among  the  pines.'  This  was  written  about  a.d.  740,  and 
is  interesting  at  least  as  showing  that  the  moon  shone  in  those 
dark  ages.  Another  line  from  the  renowned  Kie-taou,  who  lived 
a.d.  850,  appears  on  several  of  the  bottles.  It  is  mysterious  in 
its  simplicity,  translated  by  Mr.  Medhurst  thus  —  'Only  in  the 
middle  of  this  mountain.'  A  third,  by  Chaou-Young  (a.d.  10G0- 
'85),  may  be  thus  translated : 

4 


50  TOTTERY  AND  TOE  TUT. 

'The  moon  is  climbing  up  the  sky, 
Across  the  lake  the  west  winds  sigh, 
With  both  conies  sweet  tranquillity.' 

"  Shakspeare  does  not  once  use  the  word  porcelain,  but  in 

'Measure  for  Measure'  speaks  of  a  fruit -dish  ('a  dish  of  some 
three-pence ;  your  honors  have  seen  such  dishes ;  they  are  not 
china  dishes,  but  very  good  dishes '). 

"Ben  Jonson  refers  to  porcelain  several  times: 

'  The  earth  of  my  bottles  which  I  dig, 
Turn  up,  and  steep,  and  work,  and  neal,  myself, 
To  a  degree  of  porc'lane.' 

"And  again — 

' Broker.  'Tis  but  earth 

Fit  to  make  bricks  and  tiles  of. 
'  Shunjield.  Tis  but  for  pots  or  pipkins  at  the  best. 

If  it  would  keep  us  in  good  tobacco-pipes — 
'  Titus.  Or  in  porc'lane  dishes.' 

"Dry den  has — 

'  Porcelain  by  being  pure  is  apt  to  break  ;' 
"  and  again  : 

'Some  preciously  by  shattered  porcelain  fall, 
And  some  by  aromatic  splinters  die;' 

"and  in  his  translation  of  Juvenal  occurs  the  passage: 

'His  cupboard's  head  six  earthen  pitchers  graced. 
Beneath  them  was  his  trusty  tankard  placed.' 

"Crock,  from  which  comes  our  word  crockery,  was  always,  I 
believe,  an  cart  hen  vessel.  It  is  spelled  crohke  in  Piers  Plough- 
man's Vision  ;  and  Chaucer  has — 

'And  when  that  dronken  was  all  in  the  Oronke.1 

"  Spenser  writes — 

'Like  foolish  flies  about  a  h.OD.tsy-crock.'' 


POTTERY  AND  POETRY.  51 

"  Cowper,  in  a  little  poem  entitled  '  Gratitude,'  addressed  to 
Lady  Hesketh,  mentions  among  the  benefits  received  from  her 

hand: 

'  This  china,  that  decks  the  alcove 

Which  here  people  call  a  buffet, 
But  what  the  gods  call  it  above 
Has  ne'er  been  revealed  to  us  yet' 

"  Sir  Charles  Hanbury  Williams,  in  a  poem  entitled  '  Isabella,' 
has  the  following: 

'  To  please  the  noble  dame,  the  courtly  squire 
Produced  a  Teapot  made  in  Staffordshire. 
So  Venus  looked,  and  with  such  longing  eyes, 
"When  Paris  first  produced  the  golden  prize. 
"  Such  works  as  this,"  she  cries,  "  can  England  do  ? 
It  equals  Dresden  and  excels  St.  Cloud. 
All  modern  China  now  shall  hide  its  head, 
And  e'en  Chantilly  must  give  o'er  her  trade : 
For  lace  let  Flanders  bear  away  the  bell ; 
In  finest  linen  let  the  Dutch  excel ; 
For  prettiest  stuffs  let  Ireland  first  be  named ; 
And  for  best  fancied  silks  let  France  be  famed ; 
Do  thou,  thrice  happy  England,  still  prepare 
Thy  clay,  and  build  thy  fame  on  Earthen- ware."  ' 

"  In  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  1771  is  a  poem, '  To  a  Lady 
on  her  Passion  for  Old  China,'  which  begins  thus: 

'  What  extacies  her  bosom  fire ! 
How  her  eyes  languish  with  desire ! 
How  blest,  how  happy  should  I  be, 
Were  that  fond  glance  bestowed  on  me ! 
New  doubts  and  fears  within  me  war : 
What  rival's  near? — A  china  jar !' 

"  Here  is  an  '  Epitaph  on  an  Old  Woman  who  kept  an  Earthen- 
ware Shop : 

'  Beneath  this  stone  lies  Katharine  Gray, 

Chang'd  from  a  busy  life  to  lifeless  clay  ; 


52  POTTERY  AM)  POETRY. 

By  earth  and  clay  she  got  her  pelf, 
And  now  she'8  turned  to  earth  herself. 
Ye  weeping  friends,  let  me  advise, 

Abate  your  grief,  and  dry  your  eyes ; 
For  what  avails  a  flood  of  tear-  - 
Who  knows  but  in  a  run  of  years, 
In  some  tall  pitcher  or  broad  pan, 
She  in  her  shop  may  be  again  ?' 

"  Tom  Hood's  characteristic  poem,  '  The  China-Mender,'  i-  in 
the  form  of  a  conversation  between  a  housemaid  and  a  mender 
of  porcelain,  and  begins  thus  : 

'  Good-morning.  Mr.  What-d'-ye-eall !     Well !  here's  another  pretty  job. 
Lord  help  my  lady  ! — what  a  smash  ! — if  you  had  only  heard  her  sob. 
It  was  all  through  Mr.  Lambert ;  but  for  certain  he  was  winey, 
To  think  for  to  go  to  sit  down  on  a  table  full  of  Chiny. 

******* 

I'm  very  much  mistook  if  Mr.  Lambert's  will  be  a  catch  ; 

The  breaking  the  Chiny  will  be  the  breaking  off  of  his  own  match. 

Miss  wouldn't  have  an  angel  if  he  was  careless  about  Chiny; 

She  never  forgives  a  chip,  if  it's  ever  so  small  and  tiny. 

Lawk  !  I  never  saw  a  man  in  all  my  life  in  such  a  taking ; 

I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  pity  him,  for  all  his  mischief-making, 

To  see  him  stand  a-hammering  and  stammering,  like  a  zany; 

But  what  signifies  apologies,  if  they  won't  mend  old  Chaney ! 

If  he  sent  her  up  whole  crates  full,  from  Wi  ind  Mr.  Sp^ 

He  couldn't  make  amends  for  the  cracked  mandarins  and  smashed  toads.' 

"  The  poem  ends  thus  : 

'  But  I  needn't  tell  you  what  to  do.  only  do  it  out  of  hand, 
And  charge  whatever  you  like  to  charge — my  lady  won't  make  a  stand. 
Well !    Good-morning,  Mr.  What-d'-ye-call :  for  it's  time  our  gossip  ended ; 
And  you  know  the  proverb,  the  less  as  is  said,  the  sooner  the  Chiny's 
mended.' 

"  Pope's  line,  '  Mistress  of  herself,  tho'  China  fall,'  is  often 
quoted. 


POTTERY  AXD  POETRY.  53 

"In  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  a  poem  in  praise 
of  the  '  Fayence  of  Nevers '  was  written  by  Pierre  Defrancy,  and 
published  in  the  Mercure  de  France.     It  begins : 

'  Chantons,  Fille  du  Ciel,  l'honneur  de  la  Fayence, 
Quel  Art !  dans  l'ltalie  il  recut  la  naissance, 
Et  vint  passant  les  monts,  s'  etablir  dans  Nevers, 
Ses  ouvrages  charmans  vont  au  dela  des  niers.' 

"  He  thus  alludes  to  the  popularity  of  this  French  pottery : 

'Le  superbe  Paris,  et  Londres  peu  docile, 
Pa  vent,  qui  le  croira  !  tribut  a  notre  ville. 
Les  toits  de  nos  bergers,  et  les  riches  Palais, 
De  Fayence  parees,  brillent  de  milles  attraits, 
Aux  tables,  aux  jardins,  la  Fayence  en  usage, 
Meuble  le  financier,  et  le  noble,  et  le  sage ; 
On  estime  son  gout  et  sa  simplicite 
Et  l'eclat  de  l'argent  cede  a  la  proprete.' 

"  Poetical  inscriptions  found  upon  pottery  and  porcelain  make 
a  curious  collection.  The  old  Liverpool  punch-bowls  and  beer- 
mugs  bore  often  quaint  rhymes  and  appropriate  legends. 

"  A  bowl  covered  with  an  opaque  white  tin  glaze  has  this  in- 
scription : 

'John  Udy  of  Luxillion, 

his  tiu  was  so  fine, 
It  glidered  this  punch-bowl 

and  made  it  to  shine. 
Pray  fill  it  with  punch, 

let  the  tinners  fill  round, 
They  never  will  budge 

till  the  bottom  they  sound.     P731.' 

"A  Liverpool  beer-mug  has  the  following.  It  should  be  read 
from  bottom  to  top,  beginning  at  right-hand  lower  corner : 


54  rOTTERY  AXD  POETRY. 


More 

Beer 

Score 

Clerk 

for 

my 

the 

his 

do 

trust 

pay 

sent 

I 

I 

must 

has 

shall 

if 

you 

maltster 

what 

for 

and 

the 

"A  Sunderland  butter -dish  is  decorated  with  a  picture  of  a 
ship  of  war,  '  The  Northampton,  74  guns,'  and  has  this  verse  : 

'The  troubled  main, the  wind  and  rain, 

My  ardent  passion  prove  ; 
Lash'd  to  the  helm,  should  seas  o'erwhelm, 

I'll  think  on  thee,  my  love.' 

"A  Liverpool  teapot,  printed  by  Sadler,  is  ornamented  with 
the  Stanley  crest  and  the  following  inscription : 

'  Good  health  and  success 
To  the  Eight  Honorable,  the  Earl  of  Derby. 
Long  may  he  live, 

Happy  may  he  be, 
Blest  with  content, 

And  from  misfortune  free.' 

"  A  correspondent  of  Williis  Current  Notes  writes :  '  Howell, 
who  wrote  the  introduction  to  the  Life  and  Adventures  of  Alex- 
ander Selkirk,  printed  at  Edinburgh  in  1829,  discovered  Selkirk's 
grand-nephew  in  the  person  of  John  Selcrag,  a  teacher  at  Canon 
Mills,  near  Edinburgh.  He  was  in  possession  of  two  relics  which 
had  formerly  belonged  to  Selkirk — a  walking-stick  and  his  flip- 
can,  which  was  of  brown  stone-ware,  holding  a  pint.  It  was  in- 
scribed : 

"Alexander  Selkirke,  tliis  is  my  one  (own), 
When  you  take  me  on  bord  of  ship, 
Pray  fill  me  full  with  punch  or  flipp." — Fuijiam. 


TOTTERY  AND  TOETRY.  55 

'This  stone-ware  jug  was  obtained  from  the  Fulhani  Pottery 
about  the  middle  of  1703,  while  waiting  for  the  equipment  and 
sailing  of  the  Cinque  Ports  galley,  to  which  he  had  been  appointed 
sailing-master,  and  doubtless  accompanied  him  on  his  voyage  to 
Juan  Fernandez,  and  was  highly  venerated  in  the  family  ;  it  was 
kept  locked  up  for  fifty  years  by  one  of  his  nieces.' 

"In  that  very  entertaining  work,  'Autobiography  and  Corre- 
spondence of  Lyman  Beecher,'  is  found  a  juvenile  lyric,  written 
in  girlhood  by  Miss  Catherine  Beecher,  so  well  known  and  re- 
spected throughout  the  country.  The  domestic  disaster  of  which 
it  treats  gives  it  a  place  among  ceramic  poems,  and  I  quote  a  por- 
tion of  it : 

'  Come,  kindred  platters,  with  me  mourn  ; 

Hither,  ye  plates  and  dishes,  turn  ; 

Knives,  forks,  and  carvers  all  give  ear, 

And  each  drop  a  dish-water  tear. 

No  more  with  smoking  roast  beef  crowned 

Shall  guests  this  noble  dish  surround  ; 

No  more  the  buttered  cutlet  here, 

Nor  tender  chicken  shall  appear ; 

Roast  pig  no  more  here  show  his  visard, 

Nor  goose,  nor  even  goose's  gizzard ; 

But  broken-hearted  it  must  go 

Down  to  the  dismal  shades  below; 

While  kitchen  muses,  platters,  plates, 

Knives,  forks,  and  spoons  upbraid  the  Fates ; 

With  streaming  tears  cry  out,  "  I  never ! 

Our  brown- edged  platter's  gone  forever."' 

After  Mr.  Chase's  paper,  the  conversation  became  general. 
"Here,"  said  Mrs.  Stevenson,  "is  a  song  written  for  the  Mar- 
tinmas hiring  festivities  of  the  workmen  at  the  Bristol  Pottery 
in  1788: 

'  Come,  cheer  up,  my  lads,  and  let  us  all  be  gay, 
For  now  we  are  meet,  and  it's  Martlemass  Day, 


56  TOTTERY  AND  POETRY. 

Of  this  Bristol  Pottery  I  mean  for  to  sing, 
For  wealth  to  our  masters  I  hope  it  will  bring. 

Huza  for  this  Pottery  ! — Huza,  my  Boys,  I  call, 
Each  striving  to  merit — Will  animate  your  spirit, 
So  long  live  our  masters — Their  family's  all. 

'  I  need  not  inform  you  good  ware  we  have  made, 
And  that  we  have  now  got  a  flurishing  Trade, 
Great  wealth  to  the  City  I  am  sure  it  will  Bring, 
So  join,  my  Brave  Boys,  and  let  all  of  us  Sing. 
Huza,  etc. 

4  Then  let  us  all  strive,  my  Brave  Lads,  to  excell, 
that  when  we  are  Gone  our  Children  may  Tell 
What  Labour  we  had  for  to  Bring  it  to  Bare 
before  that  we  could  make  good  Cream  Colour  Ware. 
Huza,  etc. 

'Now  fill  up  your  Glasses  and  let  Mirth  abound, 
and  Joy  in  our  faces  appear  to  all  Round, 
hears  a  health  to  hise  Majesty  Grate  George  our  King, 
To  our  Worthy  Masters  and  Mistress  Ring. 
Huza,  etc' " 

A  lady  quoted  an  inscription  from  a  punch-bowl  made  at  Bo- 
ness,  in  Scotland,  and  dated  1794  : 

"What  art  can  with  the  potter's  art  compare? 
For  of  what  we  are  ourselves  of  such  we  make  our  ware." 

Another,  from  a  Liverpool  teapot,  with  a  print  of  a  lady  pour- 
ing tea  for  a  gentleman  : 

"Kindly  take  this  gift  of  mine, 

The  gift  and  giver  I  hope  is  thine; 
And  tho'  the  value  is  but  small, 
A  loving  Heart  is  worth  it  all." 


POTTERY  AND  FOETIiY.  57 

"I  have  brought  ray  poetry  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Richards,  pro- 
ducing a  pitcher,  probably  old  Staffordshire,  with  black  print  of 
a  jolly  old  fellow  witb  jug  and  pipe,  and  the  couplet   (See  111.  2) : 

'Dear  Tom,  this  brown  jug  which  now  foams  with  mild  ale, 
Out  of  which  I  will  drink  to  sweet  Nan  of  the  vale.'  " 

Mr.  Richards,  having  exhibited  the  pitcher,  and  explained  that 
he  believed  it  Staffordshire  and  not  Liverpool,  because  the  prints 
were  engraved  in  a  style  resembling  those  on  known  Shelton  pot- 
teries, said  that  he  had  found  in  Notes  and  Queries  (I.  iii.  181)  a 
description  of  "  a  small  earthen-ware  vessel  in  the  shape  of  a 
book,  intended,  apparently,  to  hjold  a  nosegay  of  flowers,"  on 
which  is  inscribed  on  one  side : 


The 

■ 

Love 

■ 

is 

■ 

True 

That 

. 

I 

■ 

owe 

. 

You. 

Then 

. 

se 

. 

you 

. 

Bee 

The 

. 

Like 

. 

To 

. 

Me." 

On  the  other  side  is : 

"The         ■         Gift  •         Is         ■         Small. 

Good       •         Will         ■         Is         •         All. 
Jeneuery    ye    12    day 

1688" 

This  would  be  an  interesting  specimen  to  examine.  The  date 
is  quite  early  for  such  an  English  inscription. 

"  I  have  a  Newcastle  pitcher,  decorated  with  pink  lustre,"  said 
Miss  Hayden,  "  which  bears  these  words : 

'  Sweet,  oh  Sweet  is  that  sensation 
"Where  two  hearts  in  union  meet, 
But  the  pain  of  separation 
Minjrles  bitter  with  the  sweet.'  " 


58  POTTERY  AND  POETRY. 

"  Mine  is  prettier  than  that,"  said  Charlie  Baker.  "  It  is  found 
upon  certain  cuspidors  made  to  order  for  the  opponents  of  Pitt, 
the  statesman.     It  consists  of  these  sweetly  simple  lines: 

'We  will  spit 
On  Mr.  Pitt.' " 

"  Of  course,"  remarked  Mrs.  Leavitt,  looking  pleasantly  around 
upon  us,  "  I  need  not  remind  you  of  those  well-known  lines  from 
Erasmus  Darwin's  '  Botanic  Garden  :' 

'  Gnomes  !  as  you  now  dissect,  with  hammers  fine, 
The  granite  rock,  the  nodul'd  flint  calcine : 
(hind  with  strong  arm  the  circling  ehertz  betwixt, 
Your  pure  ka-o-lins  and  pe-tun-tses  mixt ; 
O'er  each  red  sagger's  burning  cave  preside, 
The  keen-eyed  Fire-nymphs  blazing  by  your  side; 
And  pleased  on  Wedgwood  ray  your  partial  smile, 
A  new  Etruria  decks  Britannia's  isle. 
Charm'd  by  your  touch,  the  flint  liquescent  pours 
Through  finer  sieves,  and  falls  in  whiter  showers; 
Charm'd  by  your  touch,  the  kneady  clay  refines. 
The  biscuit  hardens,  the  enamel  shines; 
Each  nicer  mould  a  softer  feature  drinks, 
The  bold  cameo  speaks,  the  soft  intaglio  thinks.' 

"And  I  know  you  are  familiar  with  that  poem  published  in 
the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  December,  1757,  'On  seeing  an 
arm'd  bust  of  the  King  of  Prussia  curiously  imprinted  on  a  por- 
celain cup  of  the  Worcester  manufacture,  with  the  emblems  of  his 
victories;  Inscribed  to  Mr.  Josiah  Holdship' — so  I  will  quote  only 
the  latter  part  of  it  : 

'  What  praise,  ingenious  Boldship,  is  thy  due, 
Who  first  on  porcelain  the  fair  portrait  drew  ; 
Who  first  alone  to  full  perfection  brought 
The  curious  ait,  by  rival  numbers  sought. 


POTTERY  AND  POETRY.  59 

Hence  shall  thy  skill  inflame  heroic  souls, 
Who  mighty  battles  see  round  mightier  bowls; 
While  Albion's  sons  shall  see  their  features,  name, 
And  actions  copied  on  the  cup  of  fame. 

Hence  beauty  which  repairs  the  waste  of  war, 
Beauty  may  triumph  on  a  china  jar  : 
And  this,  perhaps,  with  stronger  faith  to  trust, 
Than  the  stained  canvas  or  the  marble  bust ; 
For  here,  who  once  in  youthful  charms  appears, 
May  bloom  uninjured  for  a  thousand  years  ; 
May  time — till  now  opposed  in  vain — defie, 
And  live  still  fair,  till  Nature's  self  shall  die. 
Here  may  the  toasts  of  every  age  be  seen, 
From  Britain's  Gunning  back  to  Sparta's  Queen ! 
And  every  hero  history's  page  can  bring, 
From  Macedonia's  down  to  Prussia's  King 

Perhaps  the  art  may  track  the  circling  world, 
Where'er  thy  Britain  has  her  sails  unfurled ; 
While  wond'ring  China  shall  with  envy  see, 
And  stoop  to  borrow  her  own  arts  from  thee.' 

"In  January,  1758,  this  poem  was  reprinted  in  a  somewhat  dif- 
ferent form  in  the  Worcester  Journal,  with  two  additional  lines, 
which  run  thus : 

'  Handeock,  my  friend,  don't  grieve,  tho'  Holdship  has  the  praise, 
Tis  yours  to  execute — 'tis  his  to  wear  the  bays.' 

"The  credit  of  the  invention  of  printing-  upon  china  seems  even 
then  to  have  been  a  vexed  question,  it  being  by  some  ascribed  to 
Holdship,  and  by  others  to  Hancock,  without  any  regard  to  Sad- 
ler, of  Liverpool,  who  is  now  generally  regarded  as  the  inventor. 

"  I  have  a  mug  of  Worcester  porcelain,  upon  which  is  a  very 
beautifully  executed  black  print,  entitled  'The  Triple  Plea.'  A 
lawyer,  clergyman,  and  doctor  are  seen,  engaged  in  earnest  con- 
troversy, and  underneath  are  the  following  lines  : 


60  TOTTERY  AXD  POETRY. 


THE  TRIPLE  PLEA. 


'Law  Physi  initv 

L 
And 

The  Doctor  a 

The  grave  Divin  vert 

To  1 

But  marl 

Where  ends  their  great  Civility. 

Without  a  Fee  the  — 

Hii  1  t  his  Dues 

'.at  the  jo 

But  take  *****  '  ■ 

The  last  line  is  partially  obliterated  on  the  mug.     Perhaps  the 
missing  words         "s  son." 

"  Mollie,"  said  Mrs.  Allison  to  her  little  daughter,  wh 
lv  listening  to  our  talk,  "  can  you  not  repeat  th  Inch  you 

learned  from  Grandma's  eider  pitcher!"     [  se,  and  after  a 

demure  little  court  -  1  these  lin  - 

"  A  little  Health 
A  Little  Wealth 
A  little  House 
And  Freedom 

And  at  the  End 
A  Little  Friend 
And  Little  cause 
To  need  him." 

"  I  can  say  another,"  said  Mollie  :  "  I  found  it  on  a  dear  little 
pitcher  at  Cousin  Mary's."     She  recited: 


7.  Little  Abet's  Posy-Holder:  page  93. 

[Potterr  decorations  in  high  relief:  rich  green  glaze  :  Leeds,  England  :  or  possibly  French.] 


S.  A  Fclham  Jug:  page  98. 

[Gres,  incised  decorations  and  deep  blue  foliage,  etc.  :  G.  R.  under  a  crown  in  relief.] 


POTTERY  AND  l'OETRT.  63 

"  My  heart  is  fixed 
I  cannot  range, 

I  like  my  choice 
Too  well  to  change." 

Benny  Hall,  fired  with  emulation,  exclaimed,  "Papa  has  a  pitch- 
er, with  a  picture  called  '  The  Sailor's  Return  '  on  it,  and  some  lines 
that  don't  rhyme  much."     He  gave  them  thus: 

"  I  now  the  joys  of  Life  renew 
From  care  and  trouble  free 
And  find  a  wife  who's  kind  and  true 
To  drive  life's  cares  away." 

"  I  recall  at  this  moment,"  said  old  Dr.  Morton,  who  retired 

not  long*  ago  from  a  professorship  at  College — "I  recall 

a  passage   in    one   of   the    Satires   of  Juvenal,  which  lovers   of 
ceramic  art  may  quote  in  praise  of  the  superiority  of  pottery  to 

gold: 

1  Prima  fere  vota,  et  cunctis  notissima  templis, 
Divitiae  ut  crescant,  ut  opes ;  ut  maxima  toto 
Nostra  sit  area  foro :  sed  nulla  aconita  bibuntur 
Fictilibus :  tunc  ilia  time,  cum  pocula  sumes 
Gemmata,  et  lato  Setinum  ardebit  in  auro.' 

"  Translate  it,  doctor ;  we  don't  know  Greek  in  this  club." 
"  Greek,  my  children !  You  shock  me !  It's  Latin.  It  is  a 
timely  passage — humph — I  wonder  if  there  ever  was  a  day  when 
it  was  not  timely.  I  will  give  you  a  translation  made  fifty  years 
ago,  when  I  was  a  boy,  by  my  school-teacher.  I  don't  think  it 
was  ever  printed,  but  I  remember  it  perfectly  : 

'  First  in  the  temple  arches  rise 
Our  prayers  for  this  world's  vanities. 
"  Forgive  me  " — no  !  but — "  Give  me  more ! 
Much  lands,  much  goods,  increase  of  store. 
See  how  my  neighbor's  coffers  fill ! 
Lord,  make  mine  seven  times  richer  still." 


04  POTTERY  AND  POETRY. 

'  Fool !  he  from  pottery  cups  who  drinks 
Drinks  deep,  nor  e'er  of  poison  thinks. 
But  when  the  costly  wine  and  old 
Burns  in  the  cup  of  glowing  gold, 
Or  when  with  gems  the  goblets  shine. 
Beware  !     There's  danger  in  the  wine  !' 

Other  rhymes  from  pottery  specimens  were  given.  One  was 
from  a  cream-ware  pitcher  on  which  is  a  black  print  of  a  mar- 
riage scene  at  Gretna,  entitled  Gretna  Green;  or,  the  Red  Hot 

Marriage: 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Blacksmith,  ease  our  pains, 
And  tie  us  fast  in  Wedlock's  Chains." 

Another  is  from  a  Liverpool  pitcher,  with  masonic  emblems : 

"  To  judge  with  candor  and  to  speak  no  wrong 
The  feeble  to  support  against  the  strong 
To  soothe  the  wretched  and  the  poor  to  feed 
"Will  cover  many  an  idle  foolish  deed." 

Keats  wrote  an  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn.  I  am  not  quite  sure 
whether  his  urn  was  stone  or  pottery,  but  the  enduring  beauty  of 
ceramic  art  was  never  more  charmingly  expressed  than  in  this 
ode.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  his  own  memorable  words, 
"A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever."  A  few  extracts  will  show 
its  exquisite  character : 

"  What  men  or  gods  are  these?     What  maidens  loath? 
What  mad  pursuit?     What  struggle  to  escape? 
What  pipes  and  timbrels?     What  wild  extacy  ? 

"Heard  melodies  arc  sweet,  but  those  unheard 
Are  sweeter;  therefore,  ye  soft  pipes,  play  on — 
Not  to  the  sensual  ear,  but,  more  endeared, 
Pipe  to  the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone  ! 
Fair  youth, beneath  the  trees  thou  canst  not  leave 
Thy  song,  nor  ever  can  those  trees  be  bare ; 


TOTTERY  AXD  POETRY.  05 

Bold  lover,  never,  never  canst  thou  kiss, 
Though  winning  near  the  goal ;  yet  do  not  grieve — 
She  cannot  fade,  though  thou  hast  not  thy  bliss  ; 
Forever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair ! 

'  When  old  age  shall  this  generation  waste, 
Thou  shalt  remain  in  midst  of  other  woe 
Than  ours,  a  friend  to  man,  to  whom  thou  sayest 
'  Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty — that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know.' " 
5 


V. 

DAISY   FARM  LETTERS. 

In  summer  the  club  meetings  were  very  irregular.  Many  of 
our  members  went  to  the  country,  some  choosing  the  mountains, 
some  the  sea-side  ;  one  seeking  a  quiet,  retired  spot,  another  a  gay 
watering-place.  But  wherever  Ave  went,  let  our  footsteps  turn 
whither  they  might,  the  interests  of  the  club  were  never  for- 
gotten. 

Ethelberta  Lee — is  it  not  a  pretty,  story-book  kind  of  name  ? — 
went  each  summer  to  Daisy  Farm,  a  spot  which  she  describes  as 
perfectly  charming ;  and  her  letters  from  there,  though  not  ad- 
dressed to  the  club,  nor  entirely  devoted  to  ceramics,  were  read  at 
our  meetings  and  filed  among  our  archives,  so  I  shall  give  them 
a  place  here.  They  are  addressed  to  her  cousin  Walter  in  his 
hunting-lodge  on  Lonesome  Lake,  and  by  him  forwarded  to  us. 


I. 

I  do  not  envy  you  when  I  read  of  your  charming  cabin  life, 
the  mountain  snows,  and  cool,  calm  lake,  though  I  am  sure  many 
a  denizen  of  heated  town  and  city  does  so. 

Et  ego  in  Arcadia!  Ah,  you  should  see  my  Zoar,  my  refnge 
from  the  heat,  ami  smoke,  and  sin  of  modern  Sodom !  I  shall  not 
tell  you  where  it  is,  nor  what  the  road  leading  thitherward;  it  is 
mine  by  right  of  discovery,  and  I  mean  to  keep  it  to  myself  just 


DAISY  FABM  LETTERS.  G7 

now.  Especially  would  I  guard  its  secret  from  lovers  of  that  art 
which  old  Izaak  Walton  styles  "the  most  honest,  ingenuous,  quiet, 
and  harmless  art  of  angling."  No  cruel,  hoot-concealing  flv  (even 
though  made  by  "  Bernard,  Piccadilly  ")  shall  dance  upon  the  sur- 
face of  my  little  brook;  no  Norris  rod,  with  light  and  airy  tip, 
shall  throw  over  it  its  slender  but  ominous  shadow.  For  I  have 
a  brook.  It  is  a  clear,  babbling,  chattering  bit  of  water,  bearing 
the  musical  Indian  name  of  Pebbliwassee,  suggesting  by  its  very 
sound  the  smooth,  round  stones  which  we  can  see  through  the 
clear  water;  and  there  are  fish  in  my  brook,  "  fail-,  speckled  trout- 
ies  glintin'  i'  the  sun  ;"  but  they  shall  not  rise  to  any  cast  of  yours. 
I  am  not  among  the  mountains,  but  there  is  a  hill  just  behind 
our  comfortable  old  house,  which  is  really  quite  an  elevation,  and 
a  long  steep  road  takes  one  to  its  top ;  from  which,  though  the 
view  is  not  sublimely  grand,  one  catches  sweet,  refreshing  glimpses 
which  rest  and  delight.  Indeed,  the  villagers  speak  of  it  as  "the 
mounting,"  and  I  often  find  myself  calling  it  so.  Neither  am  I 
in  a  log  cabin,  but  in  a  pleasant,  roomy  farm-house,  with  cool, 
shady  rooms,  a  vine-covered  porch,  and  tall,  glorious  old  elms  be- 
fore the  door.  Here  abide  Uncle  Scth,  a  grand  specimen  of  a 
sturdy,  honest,  kindly  New  Englander;  his  wife,  Arethusa,  com- 
monly and  lovingly  called  Aunt  Thusy;  their  stalwart  son,  Jason 
— (did  his  fond  mother  see  in  the  yellow  down  upon  her  baby's 
head  the  promise  of  a  golden  fleece  ?  Alas  !  no  gold  so  fiery  red ; 
no  fieece  so  straight  and  wiry) — and  their  plump,  rosy,  moon-faced 
daughter,  Cynthy.  Here  Cousin  Bess  and  I  are  sojourning,  eating 
sweet  brown  bread  and  golden  butter,  new-laid  eggs  and  cottage 
cheese,  and  drinking  rich,  yellow  milk.  Here  we  are  gaining  day 
by  day  health,  strength,  and  peace  of  mind  in  the  woods  and  pure 
fresh  air.  It  is  a  quiet  spot,  but  we  are  never  at  a  loss  for  em- 
ployment or  amusement,  and  ennui  has  no  place  here.  True,  we 
lack  the  intense  excitement  you  anglers  seem  to  find  in  "  killing*' 


68  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

your  gentle  prey ;  but  in  our  limits  for  wild  flowers  there  is  a  con- 
tinual, though  quiet,  pleasure  with  which  I  would  not  willingly 

part.  Our  woods  are  rich  in  blossoms.  During  the  last  month  I 
have  found,  besides  six  varieties  of  ferns — you  know  how  I  love 
their  graceful  fronds — the  wild  lady's-slipper  or  moccasin  flower, 
blue  flags,  yellow  lilies,  clematis,  azaleas,  laurel  of  all  tints,  from 
purest  white  to  deepest  rose,  pitcher-plants,  wild  roses,  spireas, 
and  many  other  flowers,  some  familiar  and  well  known,  some 
strange  and  new.  In  one  shady  hollow  the  ground  is  carpeted 
with  moss,  through  which  runs,  or  creeps,  or  strays  the  pretty 
mitchella  or  partridge-berry,  with  its  round  green  leaves,  waxen 
flowers,  and  scarlet  fruit;  and  here  we  came  suddenly,  last  week, 
upon  a  large  group  of  those  strange,  unflower-like  things,  the 
Indian  pipes,  their  stems,  leaves,  and  blossoms  all  so  white  ami 
fragile.  We  did  not  pluck  them ;  they  looked  not  out  of  place 
in  the  clamp,  dark  hollow ;  but  they  are  uncanny  things,  cold  and 
clammy  to  the  touch,  and  turning  black  and  ugly  almost  as  soon 
as  gathered.  Their  botanical  name  of  Monotropa  uniflora  is  un- 
known to  Daisy  Farm,  but  the  simple  folk  call  them  "ghost  flow- 
ers," and  I  like  the  name.  And  the  birds !  More  than  I  can  tell 
you  of.  Gay  bobolinks,  saucy  cat-birds,  brilliant  tanagers,  flame- 
tinted  orioles,  the  sweet-voiced  thrush,  vircos,  and  song  sparrows 
flit  around.  And  yesterday  Jase  (would  the  ancient  Argonaut 
recognize  him  as  a  namesake?)  brought  us  a  young  cow-bunt ing 
which  had  fallen  from  the  nest,  or  perhaps  had  been  thrust  out 
by  unfriendly  foster-parents,  and  we  have  adopted  the  little  waif. 
Do  you  remember  Barnaby  1  fudge,  my  tame  blackbird  who  trot- 
ted about  the  "Ferns"  in  days  gone  by,  and  rode  so  contentedly 
upon  the  train  of  my  dress  as  I  moved  about  that  dear  old  home.' 
Poor  Barney !  He  fell  a  victim  to  tobacco.  He  was  not  addicted 
to  the  weed,  but  picking  up  a  piece  from  the  floor  one  day,  he 
swallowed  a  morsel  and  it  proved  fatal.     Oh,  the  tears  I  shed  over 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  69 

Iiis  cold  little  body  with  its  glossy  sable  coat!  How  I  breathed 
anathemas  upon  Raleigh  and  blessed  King  James.  I  buried  him 
under  the  old  apple-tree,  treating  with  silent  contempt  Cousin 
Jack's  suggestion  that  a  cigar-box  would  be  an  appropriate  cof- 
fin, and  indignantly  declining  the  tobacco-pouch  he  offered  for  a 
shroud,  and  on  which  he  had  written  with  mistimed  levity  "Quid 
nocet  docet" 

Such  a  delicious  dialect  as  is  used  at  the  farm !  Never  was 
patois  richer !  Aunt  Thusy's  sister,  down  at  the  "  Middle,"  has 
been  ill.  This  morning,  meeting  her  son,  I  asked  him  if  his  moth- 
er was  better.  "  Oh  yes,  marm,"  he  answered,  briskly  ;  "  she's 
pretty  current  now."  Running  about,  circulating,  I  suppose.  "  I'll 
do  it  to  rights"  says  Aunt  Thusy  when  she  means  to  hold  out  a 
promise  of  soon  or  presently  attending  to  our  wishes.  "  Got  any 
saxifrax  at  urus  V  asks  a  neighbor,  and  for  a  moment  I  am  puz- 
zled. The  sassafras  I  jump  at,  but  where  is  urus?  But  I  soon 
see  that  the  word  is  a  convenient  contraction  for  "  your  house," 
and  am  content.  But  the  day  draws  near  its  close.  Uncle  Seth 
nods  in  his  chair  under  the  porch ;  Jase  comes  in  with  his  pails 
of  foaming  milk;  Aunt  Thusy's  quavering  voice  is  heard  from 
the  dairy  singing  softly  to  herself — 

"  Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood ;" 

and  quiet  and  peace  steal  into  my  soul.  But  I  hear  a  sharp,  quer- 
ulous cry.  My  baby  bunting  is  hungry  and  must  have  his  sup- 
per. Good-night,  gentle  angler.  May  your  lines  fall  in  pleasant 
places,  and,  as  sang  old  Thomas  Weaver  to  his  old  friend  Walton — 

"  Your  reed  afford  such  true  content, 
Delights  so  sweet  and  innocent, 
As  seldom  falls  unto  the  lot 
Of  sceptres,  though  they're  justly  got." 


70  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

II. 

I  >o  you  love  raspberries,  0  hermit  of  the  lake  I  Not  New  York 
raspberries  from  the  fruit-store  around  the  corner,  insipid,  stale, 
and  bruised  ;  but  great  luscious  berries,  ruby-red,  purple-black,  and 
creamy-white,  such  as  fill  the  quaint  old  saucer  I  have  just  placed 
on  the  grass  at  my  side  as  I  write.  Ah !  at  the  mention  of  that 
saucer  your  eve  brightens  and  (metaphorically)  you  prick  up  your 
ears.  What  a  keen  scent  has  a  china  collector!  Yes,  we  too 
have  pottery  and  porcelain,  or,  in  the  nomenclature  of  the  farm, 
"crockery  and  chariy." 

Though  a  member  "in  good  and  regular  standing"  of  the 
"  China  Hunters,"  I  am  not,  I  fear,  a  very  earnest  votary  of  the 
ceramic  art,  and  I  had  been  here  some  days  before  I  bethought 
myself  of  the  pantry  and  the  treasures  it  might  possibly  contain 
for  my  collecting  friends.  But  as  I  sat  one  day  on  the  broad 
stone  step  of  the  side  door  helping  Aunt  Thusy  hull  strawberries 
for  shortcake,  I  was  attracted  by  the  bowl  into  which  she  was 
putting  the  crimson  fruit.  It  was  a  queer  old  dish  of  coarse  pot- 
tery,  the  ground  a  dingy  white,  decorated  with  large  red  and  yel- 
low flowers  and  dauby  green  leaves.  Remembering  a  gesture  I 
had  repeatedly  noticed  in  a  ceramically-maniacal  friend,  1,  imi- 
tating it,  seized  the  bowl,  and,  reversing  it  quickly,  tumbled  the 
tivsh  red  beauties,  whose  green  collars  had  just  been  removed, 
upon  the  ground.  Mortified,  I  replied  to  my  hostess's  astonished 
looks,  "  1  was  trying  to  see  if  there  was  anything  on  the  bottom." 

"  No,  I  guess  it's  clean,"  responded  the  unsophisticated  dame. 
"'Taint  a  very  sightly  dish,  but  I  set  store  by  it.  It's  a  hundred 
year-old,  fortino,  and  we  allcrs  call  it  the   contribushing  bowl." 

(See   111.  3.) 

"Why  is  that.  Aunt  Thusy  P 

'•  Well,  ye  see,  it  b'longed  to  my  mother.    She  was  a  Fairbanks, 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  71 

one  of  the  Fairbankses  o'  Kingston  Hill ;  and  gramper — he  was 
old  Cap'n  Lot  Fairbanks — he  followed  the  sea,  and  one  time  he 
fetched  this  bowl  home  from  a  v'y'ge,  and  says  he, '  Lucy  Ann' — 
that's  my  mother,  ye  know — '  Lucy  Ann,'  says  he,  '  ye  may  hev 
this  for  yer  own,  and  ye  needn't  be  borryin'  yer  ma's  chany  one 
enny  more,  to  hold  yer  posies.'  So  ma  she  sot  lots  by  that  bowl, 
and  she  kep'  it  on  the  toppest  shelf  o'  the  dresser,  and  when  com- 
pany come  she'd  fill  it  with  roses  and  pinks  and  laylocks  and 
merrygoolds,  and  stick  sparrergrass  all  'roun  the  edge,  for  she  was 
real  tasty,  ma  was.  She  got  married  a  year  or  two  arter  that  to 
Square  Mead's  son,  down  to  Horse  Neck.  He'd  ben  courtin'  her 
e'enamost  two  year ;  and  she  went  up  to  the  Mills  to  live,  five  mile 
away.  An'  her  husband,  Joshwy  Mead — that's  my  par,  ye  know 
— he  was  forehanded,  and  laid  np  money  and  bought  a  farm,  and 
was  real  well  to  do.  But  Cap'n  Lot — that's  gramper — he  was 
onlockey.  He  got  the  rheumatiz,  an'  couldn't  go  to  sea  enny 
more ;  an'  the  thunder  killed  his  two  oxen,  and  his  pigs  they 
strayed  off  down  to  Enoch  Jones's  store,  an'  foun'  a  tub  o'  cher- 
ries he'd  emptied  out  o'  the  cherry-rum  hogshead,  an'  they  eat 
'em,  an'  kinder  staggered  roun'  an'  swelled  up  an'  died  ('  like  their 
betters  afore  'em,'  gramper  used  to  say).  So  the  cap'n  fell  into 
difficulties,  an'  he  wouldn't  let  on  ter  ma  nor  Joshwy,  for  he  was 
a  proud  man,  proud  as  Lucerfy. 

"  Then  he  went  an'  sold  the  old  place,  where  he  wras  born  an' 
raised  an'  married,  an'  it  nigh  about  broke  his  heart.  Ma  never 
heerd  a  breath  about  it,  till  one  day  Joshwy  he  came  in,  an'  says 
he, '  Lucy  Ann,  Cap'n  Lot's  sold  the  old  place.'  Then  he  up  an' 
tells  her  all  about  it,  an'  she  cried  an'  took  on  so  's  he  had  to  give 
her  a  doste  o'  camphire.  I  was  nigh  on  to  three  year  old  then. 
Well,  the  long  an'  short  of  it  was  that  they  talked  it  over,  an' 
they  both  conceited  they  couldn't  let  the  old  folks  stay  out  in- 
ter the   cold,  so  they  put  their   savins'   an'  arnins  together,  an' 


72  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

Joshwy  he  went  an'  bought  the  house,  unbeknownst  to  gramper, 
an'  got  the  papers  all  made  out ;  an'  one  day  par  sent  the  carry- 
all over  for  the  old  folks  to  come  to  tea  at  the  Mills,  an'  they  had 
everythin'  real  spruce  an'  nice,  an'  a  good  hearty  meal  for  'em ; 
an'  gramper  he  tried  to  be  real  chirk  an'  make  's  though  nothin' 
was  wrong,  for  he  was  real  high-sperrited ;  an'  when  I  climbed 
up  on  his  lap  an'  asked  him  to  sing  suthin',  he  struck  up  an'  gin 
ns  'A  rose-tree  in  full  barm'.'  AY  hen  he  got  through  they  was 
all  a  wipin'  their  eyes,  an'  par,  says  he, '  Hooray  !  les'  take  up  a  con- 
tribushing  for  the  musiciener ;'  an'  he  was  goin'  to  pass  roun'  his 
hat,  but  mar,  says  she, '  take  the  old  bowl,'  says  she,  an'  par  took 
it  and  he  passed  it  roun',  an'  when  he  come  to  me  I  had  a  little 
kind  o'  figger  in  my  hans  I  was  a  playin'  with,  a  little  chany  rig- 
ger gramper  fetched  me  once  from  England,  an'  I  dropped  it  in, 
a  laffin',  an  it  made  a  little  crack  right  there,  see  ?  An'  mar  she 
put  a  little  bag  in,  an'  par  he  dropped  in  a  paper. 

"  Well,  gramper  he  took  it  all  for  fun,  but  he  put  on  his  specs 
an'  opened  the  bag,  an'  there  was  twenty  silver  dollars  ma  'd  saved 
up,  an'  then  he  opened  the  paper,  an'  there  was  a  deed  o'  the  old 
place,  givin'  it  all  back  to  him.  Well,  well,  deary  me!  It's 
many  a  year  ago,  but  the  times  an'  times  I've  heerd  ma  tell  on 
it !"  And  the  good  old  soul  wiped  her  eyes,  leaving  a  strawberry 
stain  or  two  on  her  wrinkled,  kindly  face. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  prize  the  bowl,"  I  said ;  and  then,  with 
Machiavellian  subtlety,  I  added,  "  And  I  should  think  you  would 
have  kepi  the  little  china  figure  you  dropped  into  it," 

"Better  b'lieve  I  did!"  said  Aunt  Thusy.  "It's  up  in  the 
corner  cubberd  now.     Want  to  sec  it  ?" 

I  eagerly  assented,  and  having  finished  our  task,  or  what  my 
hostess  called,  with  an  unintentional  pun,  the  "hull  job,"  we  ad- 
journed to  the  "  corner  cubberd."  In  what  a  state  of  excitement 
I  watched  the  opening  of  that  door.      What  discoveries  was  I 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  73 

about  to  make  ?  I  understood  the  feelings  of  Cesnola  and  felt  a 
keen  sympathy  with  Schliemann.  The  old  lady  stepped  upon  a 
chair,  and,  taking  from  an  upper  shelf  a  small  object,  dusted  it 
with  her  apron  and  gave  it  to  me.  It  was  indeed  a  "  chany 
rigger,"  a  little  porcelain  shepherdess,  exquisitely  modelled  and 
rich  in  coloring.     I  looked  at  the  bottom.     No  mark. 

"And  this  came  from  England?"  I  asked,  turning  it  over  and 
over  as  I  spoke,  and  holding  ft  up  to  the  light. 

"Yes,  gramper  put  inter  Liverpool  that  v'y'ge,  an'  stayed 
aroun'  there  a  time,  an'  he  picked  that  up  somewhere  for  me 
to  play  with." 

Just  then  I  spied  something  on  the  pedestal  upon  which  stood 
the  graceful  little  bergere.  Among  the  grass  and  flowers  was 
plainly  pencilled  an  anchor  in  gold.  "  Chelsea  !"  I  cried.  "Bess, 
Bess,  here's  a  Chelsea  figurine  !" 

"  No,  'taint,"  said  my  old  lady,  "  that  come  from  cross  seas, 
that  did,  an'  never  see  Chelsy  in  all  its  born  days.  Aunt  Jane 
Mariar  lived  to  Chelsy,  Massachusetts  way,  but  she  never  had  no 
riggers,  an'  if  she  had  she'd  never  a  gin'  'em  away,  for  she's 
pretty  near,  is  Jane      ariar." 

Tell  me,  O  knowing  connoisseur,  am  I  right  in  thinking  that 
this  "  figger "  might  bring  back  "  after  many  days "  the  bread 
cast  upon  the  waters  in  the  shape  of  twenty  silver  dollars  ?  There 
are  other  treasures  at  the  farm — old  Delft  plates,  Staffordshire 
teapots  and  cream-jugs,  Lowestoft  dishes,  and  one  old  Chinese 
bowl  which  would  delight  your  heart. 

But  of  these  more  anon.  Cynthy  blows  the  horn  for  dinner, 
and  I  must  go. 

Be  sure  that  I  shall  enjoy  the  noontide  meal,  even  though 
served  on  Delft  platters  and  eaten  from  "  blue  dragon  "  plates. 


74  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 


III. 


Yes,  I  brought  a  few  choice  volumes  with  me,  though  I  scarce- 
ly need  them  here.  Oue  evening  I  read  aloud  to  the  assembled 
household  that  delightful  bit  of  travel  "From  Jaffa  to  Jerusalem," 
contained  in  Charles  Dudley  Warner's  last  book,"  In  the  Levant." 
I  wish  that  Mr.  Warner's  genial  self  could  have  witnessed  the 
homely  scene,  and  listened  to  the  Farm  comments,  so  fresh  and 
original.  We  sat  under  the  porch,  facing  the  west,  where  the  sun 
— a  great  golden  orb — was  slowly  sinking  down  into  a  fleecy  pile 
of  rosy  clouds,  which  were  touched  and  softened  and  toned  down 
by  those  other  delicate  cloud-tints  for  which  we  have  no  names. 
Around  us  came  the  broken  stillness  of  a  country  twilight,  when 
the  innumerable  sounds  from  insects,  from  the  frogs,  from  rus- 
tling leaves,  from  softly  rippling  streams  or  musical  water-fall,  from 
gentle,  drowsy  notes  of  birds  just  going  to  rest,  do  not  disturb 
but  intensify  the  quiet.  I  sat  upon  the  broad  stone  step.  Bess, 
kneeling  behind  me,  looked  over  my  shoulder.  Uncle  Seth  and 
Aunt  Thusy  occupied  their  capacious  arm-chairs,  he  with  red  silk 
handkerchief  thrown  over  his  bald  head  to  shield  it  from  the 
flies,  she  sewing  rags  for  carpeting  (her  only  fancy  work  !).  Jase 
stood  near  by  hard  at  work  on  a  whipstock,  which  he  was  shap- 
ing and  polishing  dexterously  ;  while  Cynthy,  sitting  on  the  milk- 
ing stool,  "picked  over"  currants  for  jelly  and  jam.  All  listened 
attentively.  Uncle  Seth  enjoyed  the  scriptural  allusions  ;  and  his 
first  remark,  when  the  reading  was  ended,  was  to  the  effect  that 
"  somehow,  when  he  was  a-readin'  the  Bible,  he  couldn't  noways 
feel  's  though  Joppy  an'  Ninnyver  an'  them  places  was  real  flesh 
an'  blood  deestricks,  like  Yantic  an'  Quaker  Hill." 

"  But  you  ain't  a  unbeliever,  par,"  put  in  Aunt  Thusy,  anxious- 
ly ;  "  you  ain't  lost  yer  'surance?" 

"No,  no,  Thusy;  thare  ain't  ary  word  in  the  Scripters  I  don't 


9.  A  China  Craze:  page  136. 

[Worcester  porcelain  :  decoration,  deep  blue  :  mark,  a  crescent.] 


10.  A  Family  Relic:  page  140. 

[i  !binese  porcelain  :  decoration  in  brilliant  colors.] 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  77 

b'leve ;  I'd  stan'  by  ev'ry  jit  an'  tottle.  But  then,  I  kinder  like 
to  have  'em  strenthened  by  folks  who's  ben  thare." 

Cynthy  was  interested  in  the  gifted  writer  of  the  article.  Had 
I  ever  seen  him  ?  What  for  a  lookin'  man  was  he — dark  or  light 
complected  ?  Did  he  at  all  favor  Elnathan  Briggs,  the  poet  down 
at  the  Middle  (better  known  as  the  "  Excalibur  "  of  the  Swanville 
Gazette)  %  Was  he  a  married  man,  etc.,  etc.  I  satisfied  Cynthy 
to  the  best  of  my  ability. 

After  a  moment's  pause,  Jason  drawled  out  slowly  and  impres- 
sively the  following  opinion :  "  Leb'nun  must  be  a  real  woodsy 
place,"  and  then  subsided  into  silence. 

"Cap'n  Sile  Chadwick,  he  went  to  Bible  lan's,"  said  Uncle 
Seth ;  "  he  was  a-tellin'  me  how  he  put  inter  Malty  one  time. 
Malty  's  the  landin'  Paul  made  in  that  gale,  ye  ree'lect.  That's 
where  he  picked  np  chips  an'  kin'led  a  fire,  an'  a  black  snake  's 
big  roun'  ez  my  arm  cum  squirmin'  out  from  ahind  the  back-log 
an'  fassen'd  onter  Paul,  an'  bit  his  ban'.  An'  them  barbarious 
Malty  folks,  they  conceited  as  how  he  wuz  agoin'  ter  swell  up 
with  the  pizen  an'  keel  over  dead.  But  Paul,  he  jest  jerked  his 
ban'  careless  like,  an'  yanked  the  varmint  right  inter  the  blaze, 
an'  never  let  on't  he  was  scart." 

Uncle  Seth  chuckled,  and  shaking  his  bald  head,  with  its  im- 
promptu fez,  admiringly  added :  "  Oh,  he  was  a  cool  ban',  Paul 
was — cool  ez  a  cowcumber." 

"  Ellycumpane's  good  for  snake  bites,"  said  Aunt  Thusy,  as 
she  threaded  her  needle  with  an  abstracted  air.  "  I  was  over  to 
Mis'  Deac'n  Fellowses  one  day,  an'  her  little  Ike — a  little  limb,  if 
thare  ever  was  one — he  cum  in,  screechin'  an'  tearin'  roun'  like 
mad,  an'  we  foun'  out  a  snake  had  bit  his  toe.  An'  Mis'  Fellows 
she  was  dreffle  scart ;  but  I  jest  made  some  Ellycumpane  tea  an' 
had  him  drink  a  hull  bowlful  hot,  an'  then  I  put  a  poultice  o'  hops 
an'  sorrel  on  the  bite,  an'  he  was  spry  as  a  chipmunk  nex'  day." 


78  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

"I  liked  that  part  about  the  convent,  where  Mister  Warner  an' 
his  folks  put  up,"  remarked  Cynthy,  bashfully,  stripping  :i  whole 
bunch  of  ruby  currants  from  their  stems  as  she  spoke.  "  I'd  like 
ter  be  a  nun,  kinder  dead  to  all  things  here  below,  ser  false  an'  vet 
ser  fair,  each  pleasnr'  hath  its  pizen  too,  an'  ev'ry  sweet  its  snare.'' 

"  Cynthy,"  said  her  mother,  reprovingly,  "  don't  go  to  temptin' 
Providence."  (Cynthy  has  had  her  own  little  romance.  Shall  I 
tell  you  of  it  some  time  ?) 

Again  Jason,  the  slow  of  speech,  opens  his  lips.  "  Benaje 
Gladden  don't  b'leve  that  about  Joner  an'  the  whale.  Sez  none 
o'  the  boys  down  to  Steep  Holler  takes  stock  in  that  narritive." 

"  Benajah  Gladden's  a  scorfev,"  said  Uncle  Seth,  severelv  ; 
"  an1  so  was  his  father  afore  him." 

"Now,  par,"  interposed  Aunt  Thusy  mildly,  "you  allers  had  a 
grudge  agin  Simeon  Gladden  ;  but  I  never  see  but  what  he  was 
a  nice,  Avell-spoken  man  enough." 

"Yis,  yew  liked  him,"  replied  her  husband,  with  a  sly  smile; 
"he  was  allers  a-hangin'  roun'  ye,  when  ye  was  a  gal,  like  a  cat 
roun'  a  valerium  bed.  lie  gin  ye  a  book  one  time — a  book  o' 
varses,  reelect?" 

"  I  got  it  now,  an'  a  varsc  he  writ  hisself  on  the  fust  page." 

"  Oh,  may  I  see  it?"  asked  Bess ;  "  I  do  dote  on  poetry  !" 

The  old  lady  rose,  laid  down  the  big  ball  of  woollen  rags  she 
had  sewed  and  wound,  and,  going  into  the  house,  soon  returned 
with  a  small,  well-worn  volume  which  she  placed  in  Bess's  hands. 
It  was  entitled  "Hubert  and  Ellen,  with  other  Poems,  by  Lucius 
M.  S;iigcnt,"  and  was  published  by  Wells  <fc  Lilly,  Boston,  1812. 
( )u  a  fly-leaf  was  written,  in  a  round,  school-boy  handwriting — 

'Etarnity  it  is  lasting, 
Reality  must  decay, 
Farewell,  dear  Arethusa, 

For  I  must  haste  away.' — Simeon  Gladden. 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  79 

"  May  we  see  the  rest  of  your  old  books,  Aunt  Thusy  ?"  asked 
Bess. 

"  Certin  sure,  deary ;  there's  some  on  the  chimbly-piece  in  the 
keepin'  room,  an'  more  in  the  big  chist  in  the  garret." 

Since  that  day  Bess's  time  is  fully  occupied  ;  you  remember  her 
taste  for  old  books.  I  found  her  to-day  in  the  broad  window- 
seat  of  the  "  south  chamber,"  in  her  lap  a  volume  of  the  "  Hal- 
cyon Luminary  and  Theological  Repository,  devoted  to  religion 
and  polite  literature,"  while  all  around  her  were  piled  old  and 
dusty  volumes.  Here  were  Bellamy's  "  True  Religion  Delineated 
and  Distinguished  from  all  Counterfeits  "  and  Jonathan  Edwards's 
works,  side  by  side  with  the  "  Children  of  the  Abbey  "  and  "  Ro- 
mance of  the  Forest."  Here  was  an  odd  volume  of  "  The  Mur- 
derer, or  the  Fall  of  Lecas,"  and  some  stray  numbers  of  the  "  Lit- 
erary Visitor."  "  Daboll's  Arithmetic  "  and  "  Morse's  Geogra- 
phy "  jostled  Falconer's  "Shipwreck"  and  Pollok's  "Course  of 
Time."  There  were  newspapers,  too  ;  a  file  of  the  Connecticut 
Mirror,  some  New  London  Gazettes,  and  several  copies  of  the 
Philadelphia  Aurora. 

"  Where  did  you  find  these,  Bess  ?"  I  asked. 

"In  the  'big  chist'  in  the  garret,"  she  answered,  without  raising 
her  eyes. 

"  Is  there  anything  there  besides  books  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  some  old  dishes,"  replied  Bess,  with  the  faintest 
quiver  of  a  smile  about  her  lips. 

Two  minutes  more  and  I  wras  on  my  knees  before  the  "  big 
chist,"  eagerly  rummaging  among  its  contents.  I  found  nothing 
very  rare.  There  wras  an  old  platter  of  pottery  in  rich  dark  blue, 
with  print  of  a  "  Winter  View  in  Pittsfield,  Mass."  (see  111.  4) 
(this  was  marked  "  Clews  Warranted  Staffordshire''''),  some  wil- 
low-pattern plates;  and  a  mug,  which  I  take  to  be  of  Bristol 
glass,  as  Chaffers  describes  it  as  "  of  an  opaque  white  body,  paint- 


80  DAISY  FARM  LETT  Kit*. 

ed  in  enamel  colors,  and  much  resembling  porcelain."  This  was 
carefully  wrapped  in  papers,  and  I  think  is  prized ;  I  shall  some 
day  sound  Aunt  Thusy  as  to  the  matter. 

But  my  letter  is  too  long.  Let  me  close  it  with  a  cpiotation 
from  my  favorite  volume  among  Bess's  attic  treasures,  a  dilapi- 
dated book  of  poems  without  a  title-page,  but  full  of  quaint 
rhymes  with  an  old-time  flavor : 

'Adieu,  gay  world  of  pomp  and  fashion ! 
I  am  glad  to  leave  your  pride  and  passion ; 
I  to  sweet  rural  scenes  repair, 
Shall  taste  content  and  comfort  there. 
Communing  with  Nature, 
So  fresh  in  each  feature, 
With  birds  and  with  trees 
I  will  take  my  sweet  ease. 
In  some  quiet  nook 
With  an  edify'ng  book  (!) 
I  will  almost  forget  how  the  vain  world  doth  look.' 


IV. 

"We  are  enjoying  a  delicious  diet  at  the  farm  just  now.  The 
early  apples  are  ripe,  and  Aunt  Thusy  gives  them  to  us  baked, 
and  served  with  cream,  in  a  way  of  her  own,  which  Soyer,  Blot, 
or  Mrs.  Glasse  could  never  equal.  The  fruit  itself  is  delightful. 
I  believe  that  every  locality  has  its  favorite  apple,  with  a  home- 
given  name,  not  known  twenty  miles  away.  I  know  you  remem- 
ber the  "Denison  Reddings,"  of  Stonington.  What  charming 
little  apples  they  were:  their  glossy  crimson  skins  covering  an  in- 
side of  white,  veined  and  streaked  with  pink,  and  full  of  a  deli- 
cate, spicy  sweetness  I  have  never  since  known  !  Well,  we  have 
here  at  the  farm  a  tree  of  early  apples,  known  as  the  "  Ilusted 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  81 

Sweets,"  and  from  this  tree  we  gather  the  delicious  yellow  fruit, 
some  of  which  is  at  this  very  moment  simmering  in  the  big  kitch- 
en oven,  and  sending  out  to  me  a  savory  odor  as  I  sit  here  on 
the  bench  under  the  old  buttonwood. 

And  the  huckleberries  are  ripe.  We  saw  such  a  profusion  of 
them  yesterday  in  our  long  walk  to  Steep  Hollow.  And  we 
found  there,  too,  our  first  cardinal  flower  {Lobelia  cardinalis),  just 
one  spike  of  crimson  fire  sent  up  as  a  signal  light  to  tell  of  the 
blaze  of  beauty  which  will  soon  be  kindled  along  the  brook-side. 
We  brought  the  gay  blossom  home,  with  many  a  long  wreath  of 
clematis,  purple  gerardias,  wild  sunflowers,  and  red  lilies ;  and  the 
bouquet,  in  a  stately  Liverpool  pitcher,  on  which  is  portrayed 
the  "  Father  of  our  Country,"  is  now  adorning  the  "  chimbly- 
piece  "  in  the  "  best  room." 

There  is  a  Liverpool  mug  here,  too,  which  is  interesting.  It 
has  a  portrait  of  the  "Honorable  John  Hancock"  in  black  print. 
I  rescued  it  from  the  kitchen,  where — think  of  the  sacrilege ! — it 
was  full  of  soft  soap.     (See  111.  5.) 

Jason  brought  me  last  week  a  humming-bird's  nest.  Such  a 
fairy,  tiny  thing,  scarce  bigger  than  a  thimble,  made  of  moss  and 
lichens,  and  lined  with  the  soft  brown  wool  from  the  cinnamon 
fern  (Osmunda  cinnamonea). 

My  bunting  grows  finely,  and  eats  ravenously.  We  have  an- 
other pet  now,  a  "  flying  squirrel,"  presented  to  Bess  by  Iry,  her 
youthful  admirer.  Iry  is  the  boy  who  "  does  the  chores  "  at  the 
farm.  His  real  name,  as  written  in  his  dog-eared  spelling-book, 
is  Ira  Galusha  Stebbins,  but  he  is  always  called  Iry  at  the  farm. 
The  suns  of  some  thirteen  summers  have  bleached  his  tightly 
curling  locks  to  a  dull,  yellowish  white,  and  sown  scores  of  frec- 
kles over  his  merry  face,  with  its  pale  blue  eyes  and  queer,  up- 
turned little  nose.  He  admires  Bess  excessively,  and  overwhelms 
her  with  proofs  of  his  devotion.     This  squirrel  he  brought  from 

6 


82  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

the  woods  in  tlic  pocket  of  his  jacket,  and  Bess  is  charmed  with 
the  acquisition.      It  is  a   queer  little  object,  and  goes  flapping 

about  the  room,  with  its  skinny  arms  (I  will  not  call  them  wings; 
what  have  they  in  common  with  my  bunting's  plumy,  glossy 
pinions?)  outspread  in  a  bat-like,  weird  way  1  cannot  say  I  like. 
Bess  calls  it  Peggy,  and.  on  my  inquiring  the  reason,  informs  me 
that  the  homely  cognomen  is  the  diminutive  of  Pegasus!  Bess 
is  still  Bess,  you  see. 

I  must  tell  you  of  another  of  Iry's  delicate  attentions.  On  the 
"  glorious  Fourth"  we  were  waked  at  dawn  by  the  explosion  of  a 
whole  pack  of  fire-crackers  under  our  windows.  These  had  evi- 
dently been  purchased  from  "  the  store  "  down  at  the  Middle,  and 
fired  as  a  salute  by  the  gallant  Iry. 

As  we  left,  our  rooms  to  go  down-stairs,  a  Avooden  box  upon 
the  floor  in  front  of  Bess's  door  attracted  our  notice.  Within  it 
we  found  a  small  turtle — one  of  those  whose  black  shells  are 
adorned  with  yellow  spots.  But  this  was  a  wonderful  creature, 
for  his  back  was  painted  gorgeously  in  red  and  bine,  and  the 
word  "Sentenyi'l"  shone  tbereon  in  brilliant  while.  So  this 
curious  reptile  has  been  added  to  our  collection  of  pets,  and  swims 
about  contentedly  in  his  tub  of  water,  with  its  little  island  of 
pebbles  and  moss  in  the  middle. 

But  Cynthy  is  my  lover.  I  have  had  a  peep  into  the  girl's  shy 
heart,  and  we  understand  each  other.  She  has  a  world  of  poetry 
in  her,  this  bashful,  awkward  young  damsel,  and  a  keen  love  of 
the  beautiful.  Many  a  little  bunch  of  posies  finds  its  way  to  my 
room,  ami  I  know  the  silent  giver.  Sometimes  it  is  a  few  "'stur- 
tium"  blossoms  of  gold,  amber,  and  flame,  in  a  glass  by  them- 
selves, or  with  only  their  own  leaves  of  paly  green;  sometimes  a 
bit  of  scarlet  sage,  with  a  blade  or  two  of  "striped  grass;1'  and 
again  a  great,  rich  bunch  of  red  and  white  clover,  or  mass  of 
daisies,  with  graceful,  feathery  grasses  relieving  their  stiffness. 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  83 

She  has  noticed  my  liking  for  quaint  pottery  and  my  interest 
in  her  mother's  "  chany  closet,"  and  last  week,  on  entering  my 
bedroom  after  a  long  walk,  I  saw  upon  the  little  round  table  by 
the  window  the  loveliest  dish.  It  was  a  large  bowl,  its  decoration 
seemingly  a  mass  of  flowers,  insects,  and  quaint  devices,  in  bril- 
liant color.  I  had  never  seen  anything  just  like  it.  But  on  ex- 
amination I  found  it  to  be  Aunt  Thusy's  salad-bowl,  of  cream  or 
queen's  ware,  decorated  by  Cynthy's  own  skilful  lingers.  Gor- 
geous butterflies,  gauzy  wings  of  dragon -flies  and  katydids, 
brightly -tinted  feathers,  rose  petals,  tiny  fern  leaves,  the  things 
themselves,  fresh  from  nature's  hand,  and  not  "  scrap  -  pictures," 
were  grouped  together  and  fastened  to  the  surface  of  the  dish — I 
know  not  how — and  then  varnished  or  glazed  over  with  some 
home-made  preparation,  till  a  charming  effect  was  produced. 

"Why,  Cynthy,"  I  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm  to  the  bashful 
maid  who  stood  just  outside  the  door,  "  you  are  a  second  Ilelene 
de  Ilangest !" 

A  sound  of  impish  laughter  was  heard,  and  the  irrepressible 
Iry,  turning  a  spry  somersault  (he  calls  it  a  "  somerset "),  cried 
out  shrilly,  "A  which!  0  Miss  Ethelburty !  I'll  tell  Aunt 
Thusy  you're  sassin'  Cynthy." 

I  am  glad  you  defend  our  Daisy  Farm  "  fortino."  That,  with 
"farzino,"  is  constantly  in  use  here.  It  seems  a  pity  to  analyze 
the  expressions  and  trace  their  origin,  but  Bess  insists  upon  my 
writing  them  with  apostrophic  commas,  to  show  that  they  are, 
respectively,  contractions  of  "  for  aught  I  know  "  and  "  as  far  as  I 
know."  Many  of  Aunt  Thusy's  words  are  very  expressive.  Last 
night  she  was  describing  a  peculiar  appearance  in  the  sky  which 
she  once  witnessed  —  the  aurora  borealis,  I  presume  —  a  bright 
place  in  the  North,  with  "  streaks  o'  light  sprangliri  out  every 
which  way."  Then  she  told  me  of  her  once  discovering  suddenly 
that  the  cows  were  in  the  cornfield,  doing  some  damage:  "  L  was 


84  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

a  changin'  my  dress  an'  puttin'  on  a  span  clean  caliker  when  1 
see  'em,  an'  I  jest  slat  my  duds  an'  run."  Can  you  not  see  the 
old  lady  in  her  wild  raid  '. 

"I  suppose  that  many  of  the  wild  plants  here  are  medicinal, 
Aunt  Thusy,"  I  said  to  her  the  other  day.  "  Sudsy  me  !  must 
all  on  'em.  There's  boneset  's  awful  good  for  colds  an'  roughnin' 
in  the  throat,  an'  hardhack  for  a  strengthnin'  tea,  and  daisies  is 
hulsome  for  babies  when  they're  kinder  sickly  an'  pindlin',  an' 
piny-toes  for  fits,  an'  elder-blows  for  goneness  at  the  stummick, 
an'  henbane  makes  a  healin'  'intment,  an'  Injun  turnip's  for 
roshes  an'  tetters.  Then  there's  dandylions  for  the  jaunders,  an1 
yarrer  for  the  spleen,  an'  hoarhound  for  a  hackin',  an'  thurrerwort 
for  asmy,  an' — sakes  alive !  I'd  want  a  year'n  a  day  to  tell  all  the 
yarbs  an'  blows  for  doctorin'." 

So  we  shall  not  suffer,  you  see,  for  lack  of  medicaments;  for 
there  is  balm  in  our  Gilead,  though  we  have  no  physician  here. 


V. 

Did  I  not  promise  to  tell  you  <  Jynthy's  story  '  Well,  you  shall 
have  it  now;  but  let  me  forewarn  you  that  it  is  no  sensational 
romance,  only  an  even-day,  simple  story  from  real  life. 

I  had  not  regarded  Cynthy  as  a  heroine.  Her  straight  flaxen 
hair,  round,  plain  face,  and  pale  gray  eyes,  were  commonplace 
enough,  and  at  first  I  looked  no  farther.  But  one  day,  Cynthy, 
in  climbing  over  the  stone-wall  of  the  "upper  lot,"  slipped  and 
sprained  her  ankle.  So,  for  a  day  or  two,  she  was  obliged  to  re- 
main quietly  in  her  own  room,  and  there  one  day  I  went  to  seek 
her. 

It  was  a  neat  little  chamber ;  a  bright  rag  carpet  upon  the  floor, 
a  tall,  mahogany  chest   of   drawers    between    the  windows,  with 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  85 

handles  of  brightest  brass,  a  "high  post"  bedstead  with  blue  and 
white  patchwork  counterpane,  snowy  muslin  curtains  at  the  win- 
dows, and  a  general  air  of  homely  cheer  and  peace.  After  talk- 
ing with  the  girl  a  little,  as  she  sat  in  her  straight-backed  chair 
by  a  window  around  which  morning-glories  crept  and  blossomed, 
I  wandered  around  the  room,  looking  at  its  simple  treasures  of 
shells,  birds'-nests,  mosses,  and  pebbles. 

In  one  corner  stood  a  little  round  table,  or  stand,  with  one  leg, 
which  divided  at  the  bottom  with  three  claws. 

Upon  this  was  a  snowy  napkin  on  which  rested  a  picture,  three 
books,  a  small  box,  and  a  plate.  The  picture  was  the  photograph 
— in  a  home-made  rustic  frame — of  a  young  man  with  rather  a 
clerical  air,  having  long,  dark  hair  brushed  back  from  his  narrow 
forehead,  and  a  self-satisfied  smirk  upon  his  thin  lips.  The  books 
were  "  Tupper's  Proverbial  Philosophy,"  "  Poems,  by  L.  E.  L.," 
and  "  The  Sorrows  of  Werther."  Rather  amazed  at  this  literary 
selection,  I  turned  to  ask  Cynthy  about  the  books,  when  I  per- 
ceived that  her  face  was  buried  in  her  hands,  and  that  she  ap- 
peared to  be  crying.  Fearing  that  her  ankle  was  worse,  I  ap- 
proached her.  "  What  is  it,  Cynthia,"  I  asked ;  "  is  the  pain  very 
bad?"  and  I  laid  my  hand  softly  on  her  shoulder. 

At  the  touch  the  girl  removed  her  hands  from  her  eyes,  and 
lifting  her  plain,  freckled  face,  all  wet  with  tears,  she  exclaimed, 
"  O  Miss  Ethelburty,  did  ye  see  his  picter  ?" 

In  a  moment  I  seemed  to  understand,  and — do  not  blame  me 
too  much,  I  am  a  woman — with  my  pity  for  the  poor,  tearful 
girl,  mingled  a  kind  of  pleasure  in  the  anticipation  of  a  love- 
story.  "  Whose  picture,  Cynthia  ?"  I  asked,  still  keeping  my  hand 
caressingly  upon  her  shoulder.  "  Him  !"  she  cried,  with  a  big- 
sob,  pointing  one  plump  finger  at  the  faded  photograph.  And 
then  she  eagerly,  as  though  finding  relief  in  the  recital,  told  her 
simple  tale. 


86  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

'•  Well,  vc  sec,  there  was  a  school  down  to  the  Middle  last  year, 
and  there  come  a,  new  teacher  from  Bostin.  An'  Deacon  Fellers 
he  come  over  to  our  1us  an'  wanted  ma  to  take  the  school-master 
to  board.  An'  ma  talked  it  over  with  me  an'  Jase  an'  pa,  an'  we 
all  thought  it  was  a  good  idee.     An'  so  he  come ! 

"  O  Miss  Ethelburty,  his  pictur  is  good-lookin',  but  if  ye  could 
'a  just  seen  him  !  I  never  see  any  one  like  him,  so  tall,  an'  thin, 
an'  pale  :  an'  his  hair  all  layin'  back  from  his  forrid,  so  black  an' 
shiny.  An'  his  eyes,  they  was  black  too,  an'  kinder  wild  lookin' 
— like  Alonzer,  the  banditty  in  the  story,  flashin'  like  a  falching, 
ye  know.  Then  his  hans  was  so  little  an'  white,  an'  a  ring  on 
his  finger,  an'  such  a  gentlemanly  necktie,  an' —  Oh,  I  never, 
never  see  any  one,  outside  a  book,  higher  toneder  lookin'. 

"  Well,  he  was  real  kind  to  me ;  he  lent  me  books,  an'  he  read 
to  me,  an'  we  took  walks,  an'  picked  posies,  an'  he  pulled  'em  to 
pieces  an'  told  me  'bout  the  stamuns  an'  calluxes  an'  antherses; 
an'  he  called  me  sech  butiful  names,  'untewtered  maid  '  an'  '  rustic 
nimp '  an'  sech ;  an'  he  was  the  fust  one,  the  very  fust,  that  ever 
put  an  ur  on  my  name,  jest  like  you  do." 

"An  ur/"  I  exclaimed,  quite  puzzled. 

"Yes'm,  an  ur,  Cynthy-ur,  'stead  o'  Cvnthy,  ye  know.  An'  he 
writ  some  verses  in  my  album,  sech  splendid  lines,  as  good  as  Mr. 
Tupper  in  the  book  there.  I'll  say  'em  to  ye."  And  with  a 
bashful  air  and  scarlet  cheeks  she  began  : 

"  Fair  vilet  'neath  a  mossy  stun, 
0  limbic  little  fleower, 
Envy  not  theou  the  stately  rose 
Within  her  leafy  beower. 

"Though  lifts  the  rose  her  bucheous  head 

Far,  far  above  thy  nest, 
I  druthur  wear  thy  gentle  bloom 
Upon  my  blasted  breast." 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  87 

At  the  last  line  her  voice  broke,  and  the  "blasted  breast"  burst 
out  in  one  spasmodic  sob.     Then  she  went  on : 

"  Well,  I  know  I  was  foolish,  but  I  never  see  any  young  men 
afore,  only  Benaje  Gladden  and  Joe  Chadwick  an'  them.  An' 
this  teacher  he  warnt  a  bit  like  them  fellers,  an'  he  talked  to  me 
jest  as  the  lovyers  do  in  books — like  Sir  Hydalgo  talkin'  ter  Lady 
Belvidery,  or  Roderick  the  Pirate  o'  the  Bloody  Flag  when  he 
carries  off  Elooezer  Montalbut.  An'  I — O  Miss  Ethelburty — I  set 
so  much  by  that  man  I  couldn't  do  enough  for  him.  I  mended 
his  stockings  an'  sewed  on  his  buttons,  an'  I  hemmed  him  some 
hankerchives  an'  put  a  O  (his  given  name  was  Oliver)  in  the 
corners;  an'  I  made  cake  an'  pies  an'  dough-nuts  for  him;  an'  I 
give  him  my  savin's-bank  full  o'  money  for  the  meetin'-house  he 
was  goin'  to  build  out  West — he  was  studdyin'  for  the  ministry ; 
an'  I'd  a  give  him  my  head  if  he'd  a  wanted  it,  I  thought  that 
of  him !  He  give  me  them  books  on  the  stand,  an'  that  pictur, 
an' — ,"  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears,  "  that's  the  box  he  used  ter 
keep  his  paper  collars  in  ! 

"  Ye  see  that  plate  with  the  posy  on  it.  It  says  on  the  back 
Winter  Hellebore :  that's  the  name  o'  the  pictur.  It  used  to  be 
mar's,  but  she's  give  it  to  me  now.  (See  111.  6.)  I  asked  her 
for  't,  cause — cause — he  et  off  of  it  time  an'  time  agin.  An' 
every  time  when  he'd  got  through  his  victuals  an'  took  up  his 
last  knifefull  o'  pie  or  short-cake  he'd  look  at  me  with  his  black 
eyes  rollin'  an'  say,  loud  and  hash-like — so  I'd  most  jump — 

'  An'  Hellebore  to  cool  my  reelin'  brain.' 

Oh,  t'would  make  you  all  goose-flesh  to  hear  him. 

"  He  told  me  how  he  was  o'  nobil  bind,  an'  how  there  was  a 
dark  mystry  all  roun'  him,  an'  how  he  was  kinder  disgized  like ; 
an'  he  n'rated  a  story  'bout  a  king  named  Cophetchy,  an'  how  he 
dressed  up  like  a  tramp  or  somethin',  all  rags  and  jags,  an'  made 


88  DAISY  FARM   LETTERS. 

up  to  a  poor  girl  an'  married  her,  an'  never  let  on  he  was  a  king 
till  they  was  goin'  to  housekeeping  and  then — well  I  don't  rightly 
rec'lect  jest  what  lie  said,  hut  he  kinder  made  me  think  lie  meant 
me  an'  him,  and  when  I  got  red  as  a  beet  an'  turned  my  head 
away,  he  up  an'  says,  '  Trembil  not,  my  aspin,'  an'  somethin'  about 
how  inv  head  was  made  for  a  currynet.  I  was  a  big  fool,  that's 
what  L  was,  to  think  I  was  tit  for  him,  but  I — liked  him  !  1  never 
thought  o'  anythin'  else  from  day's  end  to  day's  end.  I  couldn't 
git  away  from  thinkin'  on  him  any  mor'n  that  mornin'-glory  vine 
can  git  away  from  climin'  an'  windin'  an'  stickin'  to  that  winder 
frame.  An'  if  he  took  my  han'  inter  hisn  an'  said  somethin' 
about  'this  ban'  o'  honest  tile,'  an'  how  it  orter  'wield  a  septer,' 
I'd  jest  shake  all  over  like  a  cramberry  bog.  An'  when  he'd  look 
at  me  outer  them  eyes  as  black  as  huckleberries,  an'  give  a  kinder 
wild  shake  to  his  head,  so  that  his  hair  would  fly  out  like  old 
Zip's  mane,  I  wouldn'  a  ben  s'prised  to  hear  he  was  a  juke  or  a 
shar  o'  pershy ! 

"  But  one  day  he  come  home  from  the  Middle,  an'  he  looked 
like  a  ravin',  distracted  man.  He  asked  me  to  come  down  to  the 
woods,  an'  T  come,  an'  then  he  says,  lookin'  all  pale  an'  solium, 
an'  hittin'  his  forrid  with  his  ban',  says  he,  '  Gyurl,  the  hour  lies 
come!  My  fate,'  says  he,  'is  upon  me!'  1  was  so  took  aback  I 
couldn't  say  a  word,  an'  I  kinder  leaned  up  'gainst  a  tree,  an'  he 
says  again,  'The  hour  lies  come!  I  must  away!'  Then  I  spoke 
up  quick  like,  an'  I  says,  '0,  Mr.  <  Hiver,  air  you  goin'?' 

"  An'  he  took  my  ban's  and  squeezed  'em  so  frien'ly  like,  an' 
says  so  sad  and  solium,  'Cynthv-ur,  1  can't  choose  my  own  road. 
A  brillyunt  destiny  is  mine.  Rank,'  says  he,  'an'  power,'  says  he, 
'an'  gold,'  says  he,  'awaits  me.      I  go,  but — '  an'  he  stopped. 

"  My  heart  jumped  like  the  dasher  in  a  churn,  an'  I  felt  kinder 
sick  an'  weak.  '  But,'  says  he,  '1  leave  ray  happiness  aliind  me. 
Deown  in  this  lowly  vale,'  he  went  on  ter  say,  '  1  leave  the  fleower 


11.  Fulton's  Steamship  (?):  page  158. 

[Staffordshire  pottery  :  red  print.] 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  91 

I  onct  hoped  to  wear  upon  my  blasted  breast.  I  clime  to  lofty 
heights,  and  I  must  go  untrammilled ;  farewell,  sweet  maid.' 

"An'  he  went,  Miss  Ethelburty,  he  went,  an'  I  never  see  him 
any  more.  I  told  ma  an'  pa  I  druther  they  wouldn't  speak  to 
me  'bout  him,  but,  says  I,  he  is  the  best  an'  greatest  o'  men,  an' 
he  isn't  for  folks  like  us. 

"But  Jase  he  come  to  me  nex'  day,  an'  says  he,  '  Cynthy,  if  that 
taller  candle  of  a  feller  hez  been  aplayin'  fast  an'  loose  with  you, 
say  the  word,  an'  I'll  lick  him  within  a  inch  o'  his  life.'  But  I  told 
him  Mr.  Oliver  had  been  as  kind  as  kind  to  me,  an'  so  he  settled 
down." 

A  long  pause,  and  the  girl  lay  still.  Then  "  Miss  Ethelburty," 
said  she,  slowly  and  musingly,  "  I  dream  o'  him  nights.  An'  he 
aint  as  he  was  here,  in  his  black  store-clothes  an'  his  shiny  shoes 
an'  his  little  cane ;  but  he's  on  a  big  throne  an'  a  purpil'  gown 
on,  an'  a  septer.  But  his  hair  is  just  as  long  an'  smooth,  an'  his 
eyes  as  black,  an'  he  looks  at  me  so  sad  an'  solium,  as  if  ter  say, 
'  'Taint  my  fault ;  I  tried  to  make  ye  fit  for  me.  I  hefted  ye  an' 
foun'  ye  wantin'.  Good-bye,  Cynthy-ur.'  An'  I  wake  up  a-cryin' 
an'  cryin'  till  my  head's  all  stopped  up,  an'  I  says  real  soft  ter  my- 
self— for  Jase  sleeps  in  the  nex'  room — I  says,  '  Good-bye,  Mr. 
Oliver.  I  don't  blame  ye  a  mite.  I  allers  knew  ye  were  too  good 
for  me,  an'  I  won't  never — true  as  I  live  an'  breathe — blame  ye,  or 
be  sorry  ye  come  to  the  farm.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Oliver,'  says  I,  very 
soft,  ye  know,  'cause  o'  Jase  —  an'  droppin'  off  ter  sleep,  with 
my  head  all  stopped  up  an'  my  handkercher  soppin'  wet,  I  most 
hear  him  say  again,  'Good-bye,  Cynthy-ur.'" 


92  DAISY  FA  EM  LETTERS. 

VI. 

Mr.i 's  picture   of  the   cabin  was  highly  approved  at  the 

farm,  where  it  was  on  exhibition  for  a  day  or  two.  Aunt  Thusy 
put  on  her  "specs"  for  the  better  examination  of  the  painting. 
"  I  declare  for  't  if  that  aint  a  cute  little  house !  See  the  posies 
all  aroun'  it,  an'  that  nice  stoop  to  set  on,  an'  the  washin'-water 
so  handy,  an'  plenty  o'  hitchin'-places  for  the  cloze-line  a  washin'- 
days,  an'  kinlin'-wood  an'  back-logs  right  to  yer  hans.  But  sakes 
alive,  where's  the  nabors?     It  looks  kinder  lonesome." 

Uncle  Seth  took  a  neai*er  view,  putting  his  face  close  to  the 
painting,  shutting  one  eye  and  assuming  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 
"  I  swanny !"  he  cried,  with  an  appreciative  jerk  of  his  head, 
"  that  painter  feller's  a  master  han'  at  doin'  picturs.  Good  paint 
that  is,  tew ;  nun  o'  yer  cheap,  hum-made  cullers.  See  that  red 
on  the  logs  thar  ?  Well,  that's  the  real  turkey-red  ye  read  about, 
an'  on  them  pine-trees  he's  got  the  genuwine  verdygrease  green. 
An'  I  tell  ye  that  man  used  good  brushes;  takes  fine  bristles 
to  lay  paint  on  that  way.  Don't  look  much  like  Lot  Sackett's 
work,  he  'twos  painter  down  to  Greenville  when  1  was  a  boy. 
He  made  a  sign  for  Square  Adams's  tavern — the  Adams  House 
they  called  it — an'  he  went  ter  put  on  Adam  an'  Eve  an'  the 
apple-tree.  An'  if  he  didn't  go  an'  fix  up  Adam  in  a  blue  coat 
an1  buff  trowses,  an1  he  gin  Eve  a  stripid  caliker  gownd!  'Twant 
yer  idee  o'  Adam  an'  Eve  a  speck.  So  old  Square  Adams  he 
was  tcarin'  mad,  an'  he  pitched  inter  Lot  till  he  went  an'  painted 
a  hatchet  inter  Adam's  ban',  and  called  the  picter  George  Wasll- 
in'ton  an'  the  cherry-tree;  an'  Eve  she  done  well  enough  for  old 
Mis'  Washin'ton,  an'  so  the  tavern  went  by  the  name  o'  the  Wash- 
i  n't  on  House  for  nigh  twenty  year." 

"Oil,  it's  splendid!"  cried  Cynthy,  clasping  her  plump  hands; 
"  the  mountins   an'  the  pond  an'  the  woods,  an'  them  clouds   a 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  93 

sailiu'  round  atop,  an'  the  sky  ser  blue,  an'  everythin'  ser  still  like. 
Why,  it's  ser  natral  I  can  most  hear  the  frogs  a  pcepin'.  I'd  a 
liked  to  live  in  that  'umble  cot  if — "  her  voice  fell,  and  I  alone 
caught  the  words — "  if  he'd  a  foun'  me  good  enough  for  him." 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Jason  expressed  his  opinion,  but  when 
it  came  it  was  a  weighty  one.  "  That  man  in  the  boat  thar  's 
agoin'  to  fish  for  bull-heads.  Bait  's  dug.  Worms.  Bull-heads 
aint  handsome  to  look  at,  but  they're  a  pretty  good  relisher.  I 
et  a  chowder  oncet  made  outer  bull-heads  an'  punkin  seeds  an' 
lamper  eels.     'Twant  very  flavory,  but  'twas  fillin'." 

"Have  you  any  more  old  dishes,  Aunt  Thusy?"  I  said  the 
other  evening,  as  I  watched  her  wipe  and  put  away  in  the  roomy 
closet  the  "blue-dragon  "  plates  from  which  we  had  just  eaten  our 
delicious  supper;  "anything,  I  mean,  that  you  have  never  shown 
me." 

"  Lemme  see,"  said  the  old  lady,  musingly.  "  You've  seed  the 
soft-soap  cup,  an'  the  George  Washiti'ton  pitcher,  an'  the  contribu- 
shing  bowl,  an'  the  chiny  doll-baby,  an'  the  old  blue  plates,  an' — 
an' — yes,  I  guess  you've  seed  everythin'  I  got.  No !  you  ain't 
neither ;  I  forgot." 

Her  voice  trembled,  a  change  I  could  not  read  came  over  her 
dear  old  face  as  she  whispered,  "  Come  inter  my  bedroom,  deary, 
an'  I'll  show  ye  my  posy-holder."  I  followed  her  to  the  cham- 
ber, which  opened  from  the  "  keepin'-room,"  and  there  upon  the 
wall,  under  a  coarsely  painted  picture  of  a  child,  hung  an  old 
piece  of  pottery.  (See  111.  7.)  It  was  a  kind  of  jardiniere  in  the 
form  of  a  cornucopia,  covered  with  a  brilliant  green  glaze,  with  a 
raised  head  of  Ceres  in  front,  and  other  ornaments  in  relief.  I 
cannot  place  it ;  it  is  not  marked.  It  may  be  English.  I  have 
seen  Leeds  pottery  in  similar  shapes.  And  again  it  may  be 
French  or  Italian.  It  held  a  bunch  of  dandelions,  evidently  fresh- 
ly gathered,  and  contrasting  vividly  in  their  golden  yellow  with 


94  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

the  "posy-holder's"  green  tints.  Aunt  Thusy  touched  the  flow- 
ers caressingly  with  her  fingers,  rearranged  them  lovingly,  then 
dusted  with  her  apron  the  glass  over  the  picture.  "I  allers  keep 
dandylions  in  it,"  she  said,  softly;  "lie  liked  'em.  He'd  creep 
out  an'  pick  'em  when  he  wasn't  much  bigger  'n  a  hop-toad.  I 
keep  real  live  ones  in  the  posy-holder  all  summer,  an'  when  win- 
ter comes  I've  got  some  make-b'leve  ones  Cynthy  made,  an'  I  put 
'em  in  for  him.     He  allers  liked  'em,  little  Abey  did." 

"  Who  was  little  Abey,  Aunt  Thusy  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  ye  bimeby,  when  we've  settled  for  the  evenin',"  she 
said. 

The  air  was  chilly  that  night,  and  we  had  a  fire  lighted  in  the 
"  keepin'-room."  As  we  sat  in  the  cheery  glow,  Aunt  Thusy  said, 
almost  in  a  whisper,  "  Seth,  would  ye  mind  my  tellin'  the  young 
ladies  about  little  Abey?" 

Uncle  Seth  did  not  reply,  and  I,  thinking  that  he  had  fallen 
asleep  in  the  genial  warmth,  said  softly  again,  "  Who  was  little 
Abey,  Aunt  Thusy  f 

"  He  was  our  fust  baby,  deary ;  an'  he  died  when  he  was  short 
o'  four  year  ole.  But  I  can  sec  him  jest  as  plain  as  print  this 
minnit,  with  his  yaller  hair  curlin'  up  tight,  like  dandylion-stems 
when  ye  split  'em  an'  wet  'em,  an'  his  eyes  bluer  nor  any  bluin'- 
bag  could  make  'em,  an'  his  mouth  like  a  little  cinnymun  rose. 
I  never  see  a  baby  like  him ;  I  said  so  from  the  fust,  when  pa 
nut  him  in  my  arms,  so  little  an'  pink  as  he  was,  an'  says  a 
laughin',  though  the  water  stood  in  his  eyes,  'Take  yer  little  cub, 
Thusy.' 

"He  warn't  very  strong,  never;  he  didn't  look  sicklj  nor 
pindlin',  but  he  warn't  rugged.  He  was  quiet-like  an'  diffunt 
from  other  chillun.  He'd  set  most  all  day  in  his  little  chair  a 
watchin'  me  do  my  work,  an'  ev'ry  time  I  turned  roun'  to  see  if 
he  was  all  right  he'd  smile  up  to  me;  an'  I  coulden'  tell  ye  how 


DAISY  FAR2I  LETTERS.  95 

all-over  that  smile  o'  his'n  made  me  feel,  kinder  good,  an'  yit  as 
if  it  hurt  somewheres,  an'  I'd  stop  my  work  whatever  I  was  adoin' 
an'  hug  him  up  to  me  a  minnit.  An'  he'd  say  sech  wise  things, 
so  old-fashioned  like.  Pa  used  ter  tell  him  stories — he  beats  all 
at  stories,  pa  does,  more  partic'lar  stories  outer  Scripters — an'  one 
time  he  tells  him  'bout  Cain  an'  Abil.  Now  the  baby  was  named 
Abil  hisself,  an'  so  he  lissened  just  as  sharp,  an'  when  pa  cum  to 
where  Cain  hit  his  brother  an'  killed  him  dead  as  a  door  nail,  his 
little  mouth  puckered,  an'  the  tears  they  come  a  rollin'  down  his 
face,  an'  he  says, '  Poor  Tain  !'  says  he,  '  Poor  Tain  !'  '  Why  it's 
Abil  that's  dead,'  says  pa,  'an'  Cain  he  was  the  bad  'un  that  killed 
him.'  But  it  didn't  make  no  diffunce,  the  little  creeter  kep'  a 
sayin'  '  Poor  Tain  !  Abey  gone  ter  hebben,  hab  good  time.  Poor 
Tain !' 

"We  coulden'  make  up  our  min's  what  that  boy  'd  be  when  he 
grew  up.  Sometimes  we'd  mahe  it  out  he'd  be  a  book-maker, 
'cause  he  was  so  set  on  books.  He'd  take  the  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress an'  turn  it  over  an'  over  jest  as  if  he  could  make  it  all  out; 
an'  he'd  pick  out  Robison  Crusoe  outer  the  hull  pile  o'  books,  jest 
by  the  blue  kiver.  An'  agin,  we'd  conceit  he'd  be  a  picter-painter, 
for  he'd  spen'  hours  a  drawin'  with  a  piece  o'  chalk.  An'  he'd 
make  sech  cute  little  housen  outer  blocks  an'  spools,  an'  then  his 
pa  would  have  it  he  was  agoin'  to  be  a  builder ;  an'  when  he'd 
sail  chips  aroun'  in  the  wash-tub,  then  there  was  nothin'  for  't  but 
he  mus'  be  a  sailor,  a  cap'n  or  sech. 

"  But  Abey  he  didn't  grow  strong  an'  rugged.  He  looked 
scrawny  an'  bleached  like,  an'  wouldn't  run  aroun'  an'  play,  nor 
do  anythin'  but  set  still. '  An'  he  was  allers  a  savin',  '  I'm  tired, 
pa;  I'm  tired,  ma.'  We  might  hole  him  in  our  laps,  or  lay  him 
on  his  trundle-bed,  or  set  him  in  his  stuffed  chair,  it  didn't  make 
no  diffunce  ;  he  kep'  on  savin',  '  I'm  tired,  ma;  tired,  pa.' 

"  I'd  a  gin  everythin'  I  had  in  this  livin'  world  if  I  could  a 


96  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

foun'  ary  way  to  rest  that  baby.  Sometimes  I'd  fix  him  so  nice 
in  my  arms,  with  his  curly  bead  a  layin'  right  on  my  shol'er,  an' 
my  face  down  on  his'n,  an'  I'd  say,  'O,  Abey,  ye  aint  tired  now? 
Ye  air  cumfutable  now  a  layin1  in  ma's  arms  V  An'  he'd  smile 
up  ter  me  an'  put  up  bis  ban'  an'  stroke  my  face,  but  he'd  say, 
'Lickle  tired,  ma  ;  lickle  tired.' 

"Seemed  's  if  his  pa  coulden'  abear  it,  he  was  that  onreconciled. 
'God  A'mighty  might  fin'  sum  way  o'  restin'  secb  a  little  mite  of  a 
cosset  as  Abey,'  says  he.  '  Ye  mus'  keep  a  askin'  him,  pa,'  says  I; 
an'  many's  the  time  I've  heerd  him  git  up  in  the  night  an'  whop 
down  on  his  knees  an'  say,  a  cryin'  an'  cryin',  'O  God,  little  Abey 
aint  got  no  rest  y it ;  do  jest  stop  his  bein'  tired  somehow.' 

"But  he  got  tireder  an'  tireder,  an'  kep'  a  dwindlin'  an'  pind- 
lin',  an'  at  las'  there  cum  a  day  when  he  gin  up  an'  was  jest  clear 
beat  out.  He  got  outer  his  trundle-bed,  an'  he  tried  to  walk,  but 
he  went  sozzlin'  one  side  an'  tother,  an'  most  tumbled  down,  an' 
I  ketched  him  up  an'  laid  him  on  the  bed,  an'  called  bis  pa.  An' 
there  we  set  an'  set  an'  looked  at  him,  an1  heered  him  say  over 
an'  agin,  '  I'm  tired,  pa ;  tired,  ma,'  till  our  hearts  was  most  a 
bustin'.  The  doctor  he  cum  an'  gin  him  suthin,  an'  shook  his 
head  an'  went  away,  an'  there  we  sat  a  lookin'  at  him,  an'  soppin' 
the  sweat  off  bis  forrid,  an'  fannin'  him,  an'  tryin'  to  smile  back 
again  when  he  looked  up  so  sweet;  an'  fin'ly  he  opined  his  two 
eyes  wide,  an'  he  looked  right  up  at  the  plasterin',  an'  the  tired 
kinder  slipt  off  his  face,  an'  there  cum  a  shiny  light  all  over  it, 
an'  he  says  right  out  as  clear  an'  sweet  as  a  bobbylink,  says  he, 
'Aint  tired,  ma;  aint  tired,  pa,'  an'  then  he  laid  his  little  white 
cheek  down  on  his  mite  of  a  han',  an'  he  shet  his  long  eyewinkers 
down  over  his  blue  eyes,  an'  he  never  stirred  agin. 

"An'  Seth  he  whopped  down  on  his  knees,  an'  he  screeched 
out,  '  No,  no,  God,  not  that  a  way !  T  didn't  mean  for  ye  to  rest 
him  that  a  way.' 


DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  97 

"An'  I  got  right  down  by  him,  an'  says  I,  a  sobbin'  an1  cryin', 
says  I,  '  Yes,  ye  did,  pa ;  ye  didn't  know  it,  but  ye  meant  it  all 
the  time.     'Twas  the  on'y  way,'  says  I,  '  an'  God  knew  'twas.' 

"  An'  little  Abey  warn't  tired  no  more,  an'  I  was  glad  o'  that. 
But  now  he's  had  a  good  long  rest,  an'  I  do  want  ter  see  him 
bad!" 

And  the  dear  old  woman  wiped  her  eyes,  which  glistened  in 
the  fire-light  with  those  rare  tears  the  aged  shed,  while  Uncle 
Seth  gave  a  choking  sob,  and  starting  up,  "  'Scuse  me !"  said  he, 
"  I'm  the  beater  for  snorin' !" 

7 


VI. 

PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTERS. 

Mr.  Chase  came  in  one  evening  in  a  state  of  wild  excitement. 
lie  bad  found  in  an  old  farm-house  not  four  miles  away  what  lie 
felt  assured  was  a  genuine  old  Fulham  jug.  It  was  of  the  same 
gray  ware  of  which  our  common  crocks  are  now  made,  with  a 
lead  glaze.  On  it  were  incised  decorations  in  leaf  and  scroll  pat- 
terns, colored  with  rich  dark  blue.  In  front  was  an  oval,  in  which 
were  the  letters  G.  R.  under  a  crown  in  relief.  (Sec  111.  8.)  The 
letters  were  discussed  in  the  club,  and  it  was  agreed  that  they 
must  refer  to  George  Rex,  the  first  of  the  English  Georges.  Tbese 
jugs  are  now  very  confidently  assigned  to  the  pottery  founded 
by  Dr.  Dwight  at  Fulham,  and  arc  the  English  successors  of  the 
common  Ores  of  the  Continent,  of  which  the  Bellarmincs,  or 
greybeards,  arc  well-known  examples.  It  is  probable  that  Dr. 
Dwight  made  Bellarmines  too. 

Mr.  Chase,  in  exhibiting  the  jug,  spoke  of  the  remarkable  his- 
tory of  Dr.  Dwight,  who  stands  first  in  date  on  the  roll  of  emi- 
nent English  potters,  and  the  conversation  ran  on  anecdotes  of 
various  distinguished  ceramists.  The  subject  proved  so  interest- 
ing that  a  meeting  of  the  club  was  appointed  to  continue  it,  and 
so  it  occurred  that  when  wc  next  assembled  several  members 
were  ready  to  talk  personalities  about  potters. 

Mr.  Chase  opened  the  subject  by  telling  us  what  he  had  prom-' 
ised  concerning  Doctor  Dwight,  who,  in  1671,  patented  his  dis- 


TERSOXALITIES  ABOUT  TOTTERS.  99 

covery  of  "  the  mistery  of  transparent  earthen-ware,  commonly 
known  by  the  names  of  Porcelain,  or  China,  or  Persian  ware." 

"Dr.  Dwight,"  he  said,  "  seems  to  have  been  a  man  of  learning 
and  ability.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Oxford,  and  was  secretary 
successively  to  more  than  one  Bishop  of  Chester.  But  he  had 
his  peculiarities,  and  among  them  was  a  passion  for  hiding  away 
in  odd  corners  and  nooks  his  money,  models,  tools,  moulds,  etc. 
He  had  a  squirrel-like  way  of  secreting  in  holes  his  treasures, 
some  of  which  are  doubtless  still  undiscovered,  though  many  have 
been  unearthed.  The  following  entries  in  some  private  books  and 
memoranda,  lately  discovered,  testify  to  this  trait : 

'  1693,  9ber. — In  ye  garret  in  a  hole  under  ye  fireplace,  240  G.  (guineas)  in 
a  wooden  box. 

'  In  ye  old  Labouratory  at  the  old  house,  in  two  holes  vnder  the  fireplace  on 
both  sides  ye  ffurnace,  in  2  half-pint  Gor.  couered  460. 

'  Behind  ye  doore  of  the  little  parlour  old  house  in  a  corner,  some  mill'd 
money. 

'In  ye  same  little  parlour  behind  some  boxes  just  going  into  ye  kitchen, 
some  mill'd  money. 

'  Between  a  little  ffurnace  &  great  one  that  joynes  to  ye  oven  behind  shouels 
&  forks,  some  Gui. 

'  Close  by  those  shouels  wth  in  a  hole  into  ye  vent  of  ye  same  large  ffurnace, 
Gui. 

'  In  two  holes  of  that  great  furnace  running  in  almost  to  the  Ouen,  2  boxes 
full  of  mill'd  money.  May  be  drawn  out  wth  a  long  crooked  Iron  standing 
behind  ye  kitchen  door. 

'  1698. — Vnder  ye  lower  shelfe  in  ye  kitchen  near  ye  Ouen,  2  cans  couered. 

'In  several  holes  of  ye  furnace  in  ye  middle  of  the  kitchin,  opening  at  ye 
top  where  ye  sand  lyes,  is  a  purse  of  100  gui.  &  seurall  Cans  couered. 

'At  ye  further  End  End  of  the  bottome  hole  of  my  furnace  in  the  little 
parlour,  a  box  of  200  1.' 

"  Some  years  ago,  while  workmen  were  digging  foundations  for 
new  buildings  on  the  site  of  the  old  Fulham  works,  a  vaulted  cham- 
ber was  discovered  which  had  been  securely  walled  up,  and  on  being 


100  PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTERS. 

opened  it  was  found  to  contain  a  number  of  stone-ware  graybeavds, 
or  Bellarmines,  and  ale-puts,  evidently  of  Dwight's  manufacture. 

"  Cookworthy,  of  Plymouth,  had  also  his  eccentricities.    He  was 
an  earnest  believer  in  the  magical  powers  of  the  divining-rod, 
with  which  he  became  acquainted  through  the  Cornish  miners, 
while   pursuing  his  experiments  with  the  Cornwall  clays.     He 
wrote  a  dissertation  upon  its  properties  and  uses,  entitled  'Obser- 
vations on  the  Properties  of  the  Virgula  Divina.'     His  faith  was 
so  strong  that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  invite  scholars  and  men  of 
science  to  witness  the  wonderful  rod's  operations,  and  if  his  ex- 
periments failed,  he  had  always  an  explanation  of  the  mishap,  sat- 
isfactory at  least  to  himself.     He  at  one  time  invited  Dr.  Johnson 
and  I  >r.  Mudge  to  listen  to  a  discourse  upon  the  magic  wand  and 
witness  some  experiments.     Having  affirmed  that  the  rod  would 
at  once  indicate  the  whereabouts  of  any  metal  whatever,  its  quan- 
tity, or  at  whatever  depth  beneath  the  ground's  surface  it  was  hid- 
den, it  was  agreed  to  make  an  examination  in  the  garden  of  Mr. 
Cookworthy's  house.     The  cunning  doctors  contrived  to  have  a 
large  iron  mortar,  used  in  the  chemist's  own  laboratory,  buried  in 
a  corner  of  the  garden.     The  rod  was  set  to  work,  and  soon  de- 
cided that  there  was  no  metal  existing  there.     The  cruel  doctors 
then,  in  the  presence  of  Cookworthy,  dug  out  the  mortar,  to  prove 
the  fallibility  of  the  divining-rod.      But  its  owner  and  defender, 
in  nowise  disconcerted,  cried  out,  '  Ah,  but  that's  an  amalgam  ; 
my  rod  has  no  sympathy  with  amalgams.'     Mr.  Cookworthy  was 
also  a  disciple  of  Swedenborg,  some  of  whose  works  he  translated, 
and  a  preacher  among  the  Society  of  Friends.     In  a  letter  writ- 
ten by  him  to  '  Richard  Hingston,  Surgeon,  in  Penryn,'  he  thus 
discusses  the  practices  of  some  of  his  Quaker  brethren  : 

'We  have  of  late  been  very  barren  in  news.  But,  a  few  days  since,  we  had 
certain  advice  that  Admiral  Martin's  squadron  had  taken  a  very  rich  ship 
from  the  Havannah,  though  the  captain  from  whom  Chas.  De  Voigne  hath 


PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTERS.  101 

received  a  letter  says  she  came  from  St.  Domingo.  Tis  allowed,  however, 
that  she  hath  a  good  deal  of  money  on  board,  and  so  it  is  likely  she  may 
have  been  at  both  places.  Chas.  De  Voigne  tells  me  that  Cape  Breton  is  of 
such  consequence  to  the  French  that  they  cannot  do  without  it,  and  we  may 
depend  upon  their  exerting  their  utmost  endeavor  to  retake  it;  and  if  they 
should  be  unsuccessful,  would  never  make  peace  without  its  rendition.  We 
had  lately  a  very  considerable  sale  here  for  the  cargoes  of  the  prizes  taken 
by  Martin's  squadron  some  time  since,  and  that  of  the  Elephant.  J.  Coles- 
worthy  was  at  it,  and  bought  a  very  large  quantity  of  sugars  on  commission, 
as  well  as  another  Friend  from  London,  whose  name  is  Jonathan  Gurnell. 
We  must  not  be  at  all  surprised  at  this,  it  being,  by  what  I  can  find,  a  settled 
maxim  that  Friends  may  deal  in  prize  goods.  For  on  my  attacking  Friend 
Jewel  for  being  concerned  in  the  purchase  of  the  Mentor,  which  he  bought 
in  partnership  with  Dr.  Dicker  and  Lancelot  Robinson,  he  pleaded  in  his  jus- 
tification that  Friends  at  London  were  clearly  of  opinion  there  is  no  harm  in 
it ;  and  that  Jno.  Hay  ward,  a  preacher,  had  given  him  a  commission  to  buy 
prize  Havannah  snuffs.  And  brother  Fox,  who  has  done  something  in  this 
way  too  for  the  good  of  his  family,  acquaints  me  that  Friend  Wilson  when 
here  seemed  to  be  quite  ignorant  of  anything  wrong  in  the  practice,  and  only 
advised  in  general  that  Friends  should  not  act  against  their  convictions.  I 
am  not  at  present  disposed  to  make  reflections,  and  therefore  shall  only  say 
that  I  hope  I  shall  be  kept  clear  of  it,  as  I  believe  it  would  bring  a  cloud 
over  my  mind.' 

"  Cootworthy  was  an  excellent  chemist,  an  accomplished  astron- 
omer, and  an  ardent  follower  of  old  Izaak  Walton.  When  he 
died,  at  the  age  of  seventy  -  five,  a  touching  'testimony'  to  his 
character  was  given  at  the  Friend's  monthly  meeting." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Lizzie  Banks,  as  she  opened  one  of  two  large 
volumes  which  lay  in  her  lap,  "  you  are  sure  that  I  will  speak  of 
my  hero,  Josiah  Wedgwood.  But  do  not  be  alarmed,  I  will  not 
give  you  the  whole  of  his  history,  but  only  read  from  Miss  Mete- 
yard  a  few  passages  relating  to  his  courtship  and  marriage.  His 
wife  was  the  daughter  of  a  distant  cousin,  Richard  Wedgwood, 
of  Spen  Green,  in  Cheshire.  This  Richard  had  two  brothers, 
John  and  Thomas,  and  Miss  Metcyard  writes  : 


102  PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTERS. 

'At  this  date,  John  and  Thomas  Wedgwood  of  the  Big  House  were  both 
bachelors,  of  the  respective  ages  of  fifty-five  and  fifty-three.  They  had  Led 
necessarily  such  lives  of  incessant  industry,  in  bringing  forward  many  im- 
provements and  in  opening  out  their  greal  trade  (they  were  potters),  as  to 
have  had  little  time  to  form  domestic  ties.  Their  house  had  been  kept  by  a 
maiden  sister,  named  Mary,  who,  dying  about  this  time,  the  younger  brother 
married, and  a  family-grew  around  him.  But,  alike  in  the  days  of  married 
as  in  those  of  bachelor  life,  the  then  famous  red-brick  house  of  Burslem  was 
a  very  hospitable  place;  and  amongst  the  guests  who  occasionally  came  there 
was  their  brother,  Mr.  Richard  Wedgwood,  of  Spen  Green, in  Cheshire.  He 
had,  as  already  stated,  made  a  large  fortune  as  a  cheese-factor;  and  now, 
retired  from  business,  led  the  simple  life  of  a  country  gentleman.  His  wife 
had  been  long  dead;  but  he  had  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter.  To  the 
young  lady  he  had  given  an  education  far  above  the  average  of  that  then  ac- 
corded to  women.  She  wrote  and  spelt  well;  she  had  a  keen  and  accurate 
judgment,  which  under  after-cultivation  rose  in  its  degree;  and  there  is  that 
in  her  countenance,  as  preserved  to  us  in  the  Cameos,  which  indicate  a  great 
natural  sense  of  beauty  and  form.  The  long  thread  of  artistic  cultivation 
through  the  line  of  her  forefathers  had  left  its  traces  here,  and  with  very 
pregnant  results,  as  we  shall  see. 

'Sarah  Wedgwood  was  one  of  those  happily  constituted  women  who  can 
rise  equal  to  superior  fortune  if  it  come,  ami  yet  lose  sight  of  no  utility  nec- 
essary to  its  beginning.  She  was  an  admirable  housewife;  could  make  wine 
and  confections,  and  spin  flax  with  any  of  her  neighbors.  The  days  were 
close  at  hand  when,  happily,  the  spinning-wheel  was  to  be  dismissed  to  the 
lumber-room,  and  better  employment  assigned  to  her  by  him  who  was  to  rule 
her  life;  but  at  present  she  presided  over  her  father's  house.  He  was  de- 
votedly attached  to  her;  and  the  pleasant  tradition  is  that  when  he  came  riding 
in  line  weather  to  Burslem,  to  see  his  brothers  at  the  Big  House,  Sarah  would 
-it  on  a  pillion  behind  him,  whilst  the  old  serving  man  followed  on  a  farm 
horse.  Once  in  her  uncle's  house,  the  young  potter — who  was  working  so 
near  at  hand  in  laying  the  foundation,  to  him  as  yet  unconsciously,  of  an 
imperishable  fame — was  sure,  when  a  leisure  hour  afforded  time,  to  be  a 
guest;  and  thus  an  attachment  grew  up  between  the  distant  cousins,  whose 
greal  grandfathers  on  the  paternal  side  had  been  sons  of  that  Gilbert  Wedg- 
wood who,  just  a  century  and  a  half  before,  had  married  the  rich  co-heiress 
of  Thomas  Burslem. 


12.  The  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad:  page  162, 

LDark  blue  print,  on  pottery  :  marked  E.  Wood  &  Sons,  Burslem.] 


13.  Parson  Pibbson's  Idol:  page  191. 

[Chinese  ivory-white  porcelain  :  figure  commonly  called  the  Dog  Fo.] 


PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTERS.  105 

'  Then  there  came  Christmas  junketings,  and  harvest  and  haymaking  feasts, 
when,  for  once  in  a  way,  the  young  potter  left  his  experiments,  his  models, 
his  lathes,  and  his  ovens,  and,  mounting  his  favorite  horse,  Toffy,  took  the 
ten-mile  road  to  the  farm-house  at  Spen  Green.' 

"  The  next  reference  to  this  lady  occurs  in  speaking  of  an  ac- 
cident which  befell  Josiah  Wedgwood  while  on  a  journey,  on  ac- 
count of  which  he  was  laid  up  at  an  inn  in  Liverpool  for  a  long 
time." 

'With  that  generous  regard  to  others' feelings  so  characteristic  of  his  kind- 
ly and  unselfish  nature,  Mr.  Wedgwood  must  have  made  light  of  his  suffer- 
ings and  confinement  to  his  distant  friends  ;  as  there  were  those  amongst 
them  who  would  have  instantly  hastened  to  his  side.  His  brothers,  Thomas 
or  John,  or  his  kindly  relations  in  Newcastle,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willet,  Mr.  Wedg- 
wood's mother  who  was  yet  alive,  and  resided  still  at  the  Church-yard  house, 
and  her  widowed  daughter,  Mrs.  Bycrly,  must  have  wondered  too  at  his  un- 
usual absence ;  but  as  soon  as  his  state  permitted,  he  wrote  and  disarmed  their 
worst  fears.  There  was  one  more  anxious  still,  his  "  dear  girl,"  his  "  loving 
Sally,"  in  the  quiet  farm-house  at  Spen  Green ;  but  the  postman  from  Con- 
gleton  often  brought  her  a  letter,  and  so  she  consoled  herself  with  looking 
forward  to  "  Jos's"  return.' 

"  On  January  9th,  1764,  Wedgwood  writes  as  follows  to  his 
friend  Bentley : 

'  I  hoped  by  waiting  a  post  or  two  to  be  able  either  to  tell  you  of  my  hap- 
piness, or  at  least  the  time  I  had  expected  to  be  made  so ;  but,  0  Grief  of 
Griefs  !  that  pleasure  is  still  deny'd  me,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  keep  my  friend 
in  suspence  any  longer,  though  I  own  myself  somewhat  asham'd  &  greatly 
'  mortify 'd,  to  be  still  at  bay  from  those  exalted  pleasures  you  have  often  told 
me,  &  I  am  very  willing  to  believe,  attend  the  married  state.  If  you  know 
my  temper  &  sentiment  on  these  affairs,  you  will  be  sensible  how  I  am  morti- 
fy'd  when  I  tell  you  I  have  gone  through  a  long  series  of  bargain-making,  of 
settlements,  reversions,  provisions,  &c,  &c.  Gone  through  it — did  I  say  ? 
Wod  to  Hymen  I  had.  No !  I  am  still  in  the  attorney's  hands,  from  which 
I  hope  it  is  no  harm  to  pray  " good Ld  deliver  meP"1  Miss  W.  and  I  are  per- 
fectly agreed,  and  could  settle  the  whole  affair  in  three  lines  &  so  many  min- 


100         PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  TOTTERS. 

utes;  but  our  Pappa,  over-careful  of  his  daughter's  interest,  wod,  by  some 
demands  which  I  cannot  comply  with,  go  near  to  separate  us,  if  we  were  not 
better  determin'd.  On  Friday  next  Mr.  W.  &  I  are  to  meet  in  great  form, 
with  each  of  us  our  attorney,  which  I  hope  will  be  conclusive.  You  shall 
then  hear  further  from  Your  obliged  <S;  very  affectionate  frd, 

'Josiaii  AVedgwood.' 

"  On  the  2 3d  of  the  same  month  he  writes  again  : 

'All  matters  being  amicably  settled  betwixt  my  Pappa  (Elect)  and  myself, 
I  yesterday  prevail'd  upon  my  Dear  Girl  to  name  the  day,  the  blissfull  day ! 
when  she  will  reward  all  my  faithful  services.  ...  In  three  words,  we  are  to 
be  married  on  Wednesday  next.  On  that  auspicious  day,  think  it  no  sin  to 
wash  your  philosophic  evening  pipe  with  a  glass  or  two  extraordinary,  to  hail 
your  friend,  &  wish  him  good  speed  into  the  realms  of  matrimony.  Adieu, 
my  good  friend.  I  am  very  busy  to  day,  that  no  business  may  intrude  on  my 
pleasures  for  the  rest  of  the  week.  .  .  .  Can  you  write  two  letters  of  con- 
gratulation on  one  joyfull  occasion  ?' 

"Miss  Metcyard  says,  'No  particulars  of  the  wedding  are  ex- 
tant, though  it  was  solemnized  by  licence  on  the  day  named, 
Wednesday,  January  25th,  l'/Oi,  in  the  line  old  parish  church  of 
Astbury,  in  the  presence  of  the  bride's  father,  Richard  Wedg- 
wood, Mr.  John  Clark,  and  other  friends.'  'The  wedding-party 
must  have  proceeded  to  church  on  horseback  or  in  vehicles,  as 
Spen  Green  lay  some  way  off;  it  was  also  the  depth  of -winter, 
and  the  roads  in  this  part  of  Cheshire  were  notoriously  bad. 
Cottages  and  farms  lay  around  the  church,  and  supplied  gazers 
enough,  we  may  be  quite  sure,  as  the  little  procession  passed  the 
fine  gateway  which  gives  entrance  to  the  church-yard,  and  thence 
into  the  church  itself.'  'The  ceremony  over,  there  was  the  joyous 
return  home;  Josiah  Wedgwood  no  longer  a  solitary  man.  but 
with  the  good  angel  of  his  life  now  forever  by  his  side.  Then 
came  feasting  and  merry-making  enough;  for  the  bride's  father 
was,  if  cautious  and  careful,  a  genial,  hospitable  man,  and  amends 


PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTERS.  107 

were  thus  made  for  the  morning's  journey  through  execrable 
roads.' 

"In  the  following  May,  Mr.  Wedgwood  closes  a  letter  to  Bent- 
ley  with  the  significant  words,  'Accept  the  best  respects  of  two 
married  Lovers,  happy  as  this  world  can  make  them.' 

"In  January,  1765,  Josiah  Wedgwood's  first  child  was  born,  a 
daughter,  Susannah  ;  and  in  February  he  writes  to  his  brother 
John,  thanking  him  for  a  contribution  to  the  christening  feast,  in 
shape  of  lobsters.     He  says  : 

'  We  entertain  some  hopes  of  haveing  the  pleasure  of  your  com- 
pany this  spring,  which  I  doubt  not  you  will  find  very  salutary, 
especially  as  we  have  now  got  such  pretty  employment  for  you. 
Sukcy  is  a  fine,  sprightly  lass,  &  will  bear  a  good  deal  of  dandle- 

ing,  &  you  can  sing  lulaby  Baby — while  I  rock  the  cradle 

We  have  now  added  another  Christian  to  our  family,  &  her 
Mamma,  who  is  very  well,  is  privately  churched,  but  the  weather 
is  too  bad  to  carry  her  to  our  Abbey  at  present.  Your  Lob- 
sters made  an  elegant  dish,  were  extreme  good ;  pleased  my 
Daddy  vastly,  who  stay'd  with  me  three  days  on  the  occasion,  and 
was  as  usual  very  merry  &  very  good  company.  Tell  John 
Wedgwood,  says  the  old  gentn,  that  I  drink  his  health,  &  thank 
him  for  his  Lobsters  ;  they  are  very  fine,  &  a  creature  that  I  like.' 

"  His  daughter,  Susannah,  lived  to  be  the  mother  of  Charles 
Darwin.  In  March  of  the  same  year  Mr.  Wedgwood  writes  to 
his  brother : 

"  '  I  have  just  begun  a  course  of  experiments  for  a  white  body 
&  glaze  which  promiseth  well  hitherto.  Sally  is  my  chief  help- 
mate in  this  as  well  as  other  things ;  &  that  she  may  not  be  hur- 
ried by  haveing  too  many  Irons  in  the  fire,  as  the  phrase  is,  I 
have  ordd  the  spinning-wheel  into  the  Lumber-room.  She  hath 
learnt  my  characters,  least  to  write  them,  but  can  scarcely  read 
them  at  present.' 


108  PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  TOTTERS. 

"May,  1705,  to  tlie  same  he  writes:  'Sally  says  your  niece 
Sukey  is  worth  your  coming  150  miles  to  see;  but  she  may  see 
ik  talk  like  a  Mother.' 

"  From  this  time  onward  we  again  and  again  see  proofs  of  the 
harmony  and  perfect  sympathy  which  existed  between  this  lov- 
ing pair.  In  17G8  Mr.  Wedgwood,  having  suffered  from  child- 
hood with  an  affection  of  the  knee,  submitted  to  amputation  of 
his  leg. 

"  His  wife  sustained  and  cheered  him  through  this  trial,  ad- 
ministering his  medicines,  dressing  his  wounds  with  her  own 
hands,  writing  his  letters,  and  attending  to  his  business  affairs, 
'  and  through  her  serene  cheerfulness  greatly  hastened  his  recov- 
ery.' Yet  at  this  very  time  her  baby,  a  boy  of  ten  months  old, 
lay  very  ill,  and  soon  after  died,  the  faithful  wife,  for  her  hus- 
band's sake,  '  concealing,  as  far  as  possible,  her  weariness  and 
sorrow.' 

"Her  taste  was  excellent,  and  her  husband  consulted  her  con- 
stantly in  regard  to  his  work.  'The  Pyramid  flower -pots,'  he 
writes,  '  dress  with  flowers  so  excellently  that  my  wife  says  they 
must  sell  when  their  good  qualities  are  known.'  '1  speak  from 
experience  in  Female  taste,  without  which  I  should  have  made 
but  a  poor  figure  amongst  my  Potts;  not  one  of  which  of  any 
consequence  is  finished  without  the  approbation  of  my  Sally.' 

"In  1709  he  was  threatened  with  blindness,  and  for  some  time 
his  anxiety  and  suffering  were  great.  His  wife  at  first  acted  as 
amanuensis,  but  was  called  away  to  her  aged  father,  who  lay  ill  at 
Spcn  Green.  Thus  he  was  left  in  loneliness  and  grief,  and  speaks 
sadly  in  his  letters  of  this  separation.  Later  he  writes:  'But  let 
me  turn  from  this  dark  scene  &  tell  you  that  my  good  father  con- 
tinues to  recover  without  much  interruption,  &  I  hope  will  be 
able  to  come  down-stairs,  and  spare  me  my  wife  again  in  a  short 
time,  which  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  me,  for  at  present  I  am 


PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTEIiS.  109 

sadly  forlorn  indeed.'  Afterward  :  '  I  left  Spen  Green  yesterday, 
&  this  time  have  brought  my  Wife  and  Child  along  with  me. 
Etruria  now  begins  to  brighten  up,  &  looks  like  itself  again  ;  five 
long  weeks  of  absence  have  hung  very  heavily  upon  me,  but  her 
aid  was  much  wanted  to  nurse  &  comfort  an  aged  ifc  worthy  par- 
ent, and  I  was  well  pleased  that  she  was  able  to  pay  this  debt 
of  duty  &  affection  to  him.' 

"At  one  time,  when  dreading  the  unpleasant  business  of  mov- 
ing into  a  new  house,  he  was  called  to  London,  and  thus  describes 
his  home-coming :  '  We  were  three  days  upon  the  road,  though 
we  lost  no  time,  and  travel'd  a  little  by  moonlight  each  evening ; 
but  at  the  last  stage — Etruria — I  was  rewarded  for  all  the  risque 
&  pains  I  had  undergone  in  a  tedious,  long,  and  dirty  journey. 
I  found  my  Sally  &  family  at  Etruria !  just  come  there  to  take 
possession  of  the  Etruscan  plains,  &  sleep  upon  them  for  the 
first  night.  Was  not  this  clever,  now,  of  my  own  dear  Girl's  con- 
triving ?  She  expected  her  Joss  on  the  very  evening  he  arrived ; 
had  got  the  disagreeable  business  of  removing  all  over,  <fc  I  wod 
not  have  been  another  night  from  home  for  the  Indies.' 

"  Other  children  were  born  to  them,  and  we  find  pleasant  al- 
lusions by  their  father  to  'Snkey,'  to  '  Jacky,'  'little  Joss,'  and 
'little  Tom.'  In  1*772  Mrs.  Wedgwood  had  a  long  and  severe 
illness,  and  her  husband  writes  to  Bentley :  '  I  trust  my  dear 
Friend  will  excuse  my  entering  into  any  particular  details  of  bus- 
iness whilst  my  mind  is  in  this  state  of  anxiety  &  distress  for 
the  safety  of  my  dear  Girl.'  '  I  should,  in  losing  her,  go  near  to 
lose  myself  also.'  He  says  to  the  same  friend,  although  his  two 
sisters  were  with  him  in  this  hour  of  trial,  he  ministered  to  his 
wife  himself,  and  nursed  her  tenderly.  He  says, '  I  believe  I  shall 
not  gain  much  credit  in  my  office  amongst  the  female  nurses 
here,  as  I  have  prescribed  what  they  durst  not  think  of  for  my 
patient.      When   nothing  could   stay  upon   her  stomach,  I  gave 


110  PERSONA  L  TTIES  ABO  UT  POTTERS. 

her  fruit — ripe  plumbs,  &c,  as  often  as  she  would  eat.  *  *  *  I 
have  given  her  Cyder  that  blows  the  cork  up  to  the  Ceiling. 
She  relishes  it  vastly,  and  it  does  her  good.' 

"Under  the  skilful  care  of  Dr.  Erasmus  Darwin,  Mrs.  Wedg- 
wood recovered  from  her  painful  illness,  during  which  she  had 
been,  as  her  husband  testified,  'patience  &  resignation  itself.' 

"  But  I  am  lingering  too  long  with  my  favorites ;  I  meant  but 
to  give  you  a  few  hasty  glimpses  of  the  home-life  of  the  mas- 
ter-potter. As  the  children  grew  older,  their  father  and  mother 
took  a  keen  interest  in  their  education,  not  only  sending  them 
to  the  best  schools,  but  instructing  them  at  home,  and  providing 
them  with  simple,  innocent  recreation.  I  cannot  do  better  than 
close  with  the  plan  of  some  family  pictures,  sketched  by  Wedg- 
wood as  follows,  for  the  guidance  of  Mr.  Stubbs,  the  artist : 

"The  two  family  pieces  I  have  hinted  at  I  mean  to  contain 
the  children  only,  ifc  grouped,  perhaps,  in  some' such  manner  as 
this — Sukey  playing  upon  her  harpsichord,  with  Kitty  singing 
to  her  as  she  often  does,  &  Sally  <fc  Mary  Ann  upon  the  carpet 
in  some  employment  suitable  to  their  ages.  This  to  be  one  pict- 
ure. The  pendant  to  be  Jack  standing  at  a  table  making  fixable 
air  with  the  glass  apparatus,  &c,  &  his  two  brothers  accompany- 
ing him,  Tom  jumping  up  &  clapping  his  hands  in  joy,  &  sur- 
prised at  seeing  the  stream  of  bubbles  rise  up  just  as  Jack  lias 
put  in  a  little  chalk  to  the  acid  ;  Jos  with  the  chemical  dictionary 
open  before  him  in  a  thoughtful  mood — which  actions  will  be 
exactly  descriptive  of  their  respective  characters.' 

"Josiah  Wedgwood  died  January  3d,  1795.  'His  children 
and  his  devoted  wife  were  his  only  nurses,  and  kept  their  watch 
and  performed  their  ministry  with  a  love  and  devotion  never  sur- 
passed.1 His  wife  survived  him  twenty  years,  and  was  then  laid 
by  his  side  in  the  porch-way  of  the  old  parish  church  at  Stoke." 

"  Let  me    say  a  few  words,"  said  Mary   Dillingham,  "  about 


FEES ONA LITIES  ABO  UT  FOTTEMS.  1 1 1 

Ralph  Wedgwood,  a  cousin,  two  or  three  times  removed,  of  Jo- 
siah,  and  also  a  potter  at  one  time.  He  was  a  man  of  great  in- 
ventive genius.  In  1814  he  submitted  to  the  government  the 
scheme  of  an  electric  telegraph,  or,  as  he  called  it,  the  Fulguri- 
polygraph,  '  which  admits  of  writing  in  several  distant  places  at 
one  and  the  same  time,  and  by  the  agency  of  two  persons  only.' 
This  plan  he  urged  upon  the  government  as  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance, especially  in  the  then  unsettled  state  of  the  country. 
But  Lord  Castlereagh  declined  the  proposition  on  behalf  of  the 
government,  stating  that '  the  war  being  at  an  end,  the  old  system 
was  sufficient  for  the  country.' 

"He  invented  a  manifold- writer,  which  he  styled  a  '  Penna- 
polygraph,'  a  number  of  pens  attached  to  one  handle.  He  con- 
structed a  carriage  in  which  he  travelled  through  the  country, 
and  which  he  describes  as  '  a  long  coach  to  get  out  behind,  and 
on  grasshopper  springs,  now  used  by  all  the  mails.'  This  carriage, 
it  is  said,  '  was  so  extraordinary  in  its  appearance  as  to  be  taken 
for  a  travelling  show.' 

"  He  took  out  a  patent  for  '  an  apparatus  for  producing  several 
original  writings  or  drawings  at  one  and  the  same  time.'  He  ad- 
vertised as  a  teacher  of  chemistry  in  schools  ;  he  planned  an  'Aeri- 
al Zone,'  and  laid  his  invention  before  the  Admiralty  ;  and  finally 
he  had  a  scheme  for  the  founding  of  a  universal  language,  and 
upon  this  he  corresponded  with  Shelley,  the  poet,  and  other  dis- 
tinguished characters.  In  short,  he  seems  to  have  been  a  kind  of 
universal  genius,  full  of  bright,  though  not  always  practical,  ideas." 

"  That  is  an  amusing  story  about  Pottery  and  Royalty,"  said 
some  one,  "which  Mr.  Binns  tells  of  George  III.,  in  his  history 
of  the  Worcester  works.  He  relates  it  on  the  authority  of  Mrs, 
Chamberlain,  who  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  remembered  the 
incident,  as  well  she  might,  for  she  was  present  when  it  occurred. 
Messrs.  Chamberlain  had  bought  a  house  for  the  use  of  their  pot- 


112  PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  l'OTTERS. 

tery,  and  were  making  alterations  in  it.  Carpenters  were  at  work, 
and  shavings,  dirt,  and  confusion  abounded,  when  one  day  a  gen- 
tleman and  lady  walked  in  and  began  poking  around  very  coolly, 
and  looking  at  what  was  in  progress.  It  was  George  III.  and 
Queen  Charlotte.  The  King  was  fond  of  such  free  and  easy  vis- 
its. He  said  he  wanted  to  see  what  they  were  going  to  do  to 
the  house,  and  the  royal  pair  wandered  around  among  tools  and 
shavings,  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  house  and  investigated  gener- 
ally, until  the  King  sat  down  at  last  on  the  top  step  of  the  upper 
staircase,  and  said,  '  Come  Charlotte,  come  and  sit  down,  for  I  am 
rather  tired.'  Whereupon  the  Queen  sat  down  by  his  side  on  the 
same  step,  and  the  two  laughed  heartily  at  the  position  in  which 
they  found  themselves." 

Potters  have  been  frequently  honored  with  royal  visits  by  ap- 
pointment, but  rarely  in  this  unceremonious  way.  Every  great 
factory  preserves  with  care  the  history  of  the  ceremonious  visits 
it  has  received  from  distinguished  men,  princes,  princesses,  kings, 
and  queens.  The  Worcester  Factory  does  not  fail  to  keep  in  view 
the  fact  that  in  1832  the  princess,  now  Queen  Victoria,  visited 
the  works,  then  of  Messrs.  Chamberlain,  and  that  George  IV,  when 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  other  members  of  the  royal  family  have 
inspected  the  pottery. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear,"  said  Charlie  Baker,  "  of  those  jolly  pot- 
ters from  the  Leeds  Works,  and  what  they  did  one  night  more 
than  sixty  years  ago  ?  Well,  you  see  they  had  been  on  a  spree 
at  Sheffield,  and  made  a  regular  night  of  it,  and,  coming  home 
toward  morning  over  a  moor,  called  Attercliffe  Common,  they 
passed  a  gibbet  where  hung — now  comes  the  shudd<  i\  part, girls, 
don't  look  over  your  shoulders — where  hung  the  rattling,  gaunt, 
ghostly  skeleton  of  a  murderer,  Spencer  Broughton,  who  was  ex- 
ecuted years  before.  'Let's  ha'  a  rap  at  him,''  cried  out  one  fel- 
low, and  the  others,  all  feeling  a  little  good,  you  know,  and  ready 


PERSONALITIES  ABOUT  POTTERS.  \\Z 

for  quiet  fun  like  this,  began  throwing  stones  at  Bony.  One  of 
the  boys,  whose  head  was  a  little  more  level  than  the  others,  hit 
the  mark,  and  broke  off  two  of  the  skeleton's  fingers.  They 
picked  them  up,  carried  them  home  as  souvenirs,  keepsakes,  me- 
mento-moris,  you  know,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing;  and  some 
time  after,  when  experiments  in  china  were  being  made  at  their 
pottery,  they  just  burned  these  flipper-bones  and  mixed  them 
with  the  paste.  From  this  pleasant  compound  a  seal  was  made, 
with  a  gibbet  designed  upon  it,  and  also  a  very  beautiful  jug, 
painted  with  flowers  and  richly  gilded.  Please  ask  me  how 
much  this  last  holds,  wont  you?  so  that  I  can  reply  'about  two 
fingers.' " 

"  What  a  horrid  story !"  said  his  sister.  "  I  will  tell  you  of 
something  much  nicer.  Old  William  Pegg  was  a  decorator  of 
china  at  the  Derby  Works.  He  was  a  curious  character,  and 
perhaps  not  entirely  sane.  He  was  a  Quaker,  and  published  a 
pamphlet  entitled  '  Traits  in  the  singular  life  of  that  persecuted 
man,  for  his  obedience  to  the  Truth,  Wm  Pegg,  who  joined  the 
Society  of  the  People  called  Quakers  in  the  year  1800.'  In  this 
publication  he  traced  his  descent  from  Abraham,  'who  is  said  to 
be  the  Father  of  the  Faithful,'  and  says  that  his  family  are  of 
the  seed  of  Esau,  red,  and  also  that  he  is  the  descendant,  on  his 
mother's  side,  of  Ishmael,  which  he  proves  by  stating  that  his 
mother  and  '  all  her  kin  are  swarthy,  and  marked  with  a  brown 
freckle.'  He  was  an  excellent  decorator,  painting  flowers  from 
nature  very  beautifully.  But  being  assailed  by  scruples  as  to  the 
rightfulness  of  making  the  'likeness  of  anything  that  is  in  heaven 
above  or  upon  the  earth  beneath,'  he  gave  up  his  situation  and 
commenced  shopkeeping." 

"It  is  growing  late,"  said  Mr.  Leavitt,  "and  I  will  only  give 
you  a  brief  tribute  paid  by  one  potter  to  another.  John  Green, 
of  the  Leeds  Pottery,  writes   to  his  partner,  John  Brameld,  at 


114  PEHS0NAL1TIES  ABOUT  TOTTERS. 

Swinton,  concerning  the  death  of  a  partner  in  the  Leeds  Works, 
Henry  Ackroyd :  '  Our  worthy  friend  Ackroyd  is  dead,  and  I 
doubt  not  but  is  alive  again.  It  was  a  pleasant  reflection  to  me, 
being  one  of  the  pall-bearers,  to  think  I  was  bearing  the  Cover 
over  a  dead  Carkcss  whose  soul  I  had  not  the  least  doubt  was  in 
heaven.  He  left  this  world  with  as  great  Composer  and  Confi- 
dance  in  his  future  state  as  was  possible  for  a  man  to  do ;  and  I 
sincerely  wish  that  you  and  me  may  be  as  well  prepared  as 
friend  Ad  for  a  future  state.' " 


14.  Aunt  Dru's  C'aulifluwek  Teapot:  page  203. 

[Old  English  :  Cauliflower  Ware.] 


15.  Jase's  Checker-Board  Bowl:  page  207. 

[Staffordshire  :  "  delft-ware  :"  blue  decoration.] 


VII. 

A  CHINA   CRAZE. 

"  I  have  put  into  form  an  adventure  of  my  own  last  summer," 
said  Miss  Norton,  one  evening,  "and  with  permission  of  the  club 
I  will  read  it. 

'My  dear  Jane, — You  have  not  forgotten  me?  I  am  sure  the  old  days 
at  Stratton  Seminary  are  still  fresh  in  your  memory,  and  how  can  you  remem- 
ber them  without  an  occasional  thought  of  your  old  room-mate  ?  It  is  not 
my  fault  that  our  correspondence  has  died  a  lingering  death,  nor  that  we 
have  never  met  since  the  day  when  you,  a  "  sweet  girl-graduate,"  said  farewell 
to  school  life  and  to  poor  weeping  me.  Again  and  again  I  have  begged  you 
to  have  pity  on  my  loneliness,  and  come  to  my  quiet  home.  Again  and  again 
you  have  refused.  But  this  is  Centennial  year,  and  I  shall  try  a  hundredth 
time.  It  is  so  lovely  here  now.  The  woods  are  charming,  and  full  of  ferns 
and  blossoms,  the  walks  and  drives  delightful.  Come,  come,  come !  Mother 
and  I  are  quite  alone.  She  is  nearly  seventy,  and  of  late  I  can  see  that  her 
mind  is  somewhat  enfeebled.  But  she  is  a  dear,  good  mother,  and  will  wel- 
come warmly  any  friend  of  mine.  Write  me  that  you  will  come,  and  I  will 
meet  you  at  Greenville  Station,  and  drive  with  you  to  Littlefield,  our  quiet 
home.  Expectantly,  insistingly,  not-to-be-refusedly  yours, 

'  Ellen  Bates.' 

"  Dear  old  Nell !  Five  years  since  the  old  school  life  ended, 
and  she  is  just  as  true  and  loving  as  then.  But  I  cannot  bury 
myself  in  that  out-of-the-world  place.  Why,  it  is  miles  from  a 
railroad ;  there  are  no  neighbors ;  the  town  is  as  old  as  the  hills, 
and  as  primitive  as — " 

"  Miles  from  the  rail !     Primitive  !     Why,  Jane,  wouldn't  it  be 


118  A    CHINA   CRAZE. 

just  the  place  for — "  Thus  far  my  sister  Louisa,  in  an  excited 
tone,  and  with  eager,  shining  eyes. 

I  waited  not  for  the  completion  of  her  sentence,  but,  springing 
up,  seized  her  outstretched  hands,  and  cried,  "  Yes,  yes,  yes — just 
the  place.  Her  grandfather  was  a  sea-captain ;  and,  oh,  Louisa, 
her  uncle  lived  in  China  two  years !     I  will  go." 

To  explain  this  sudden  change  of  purpose,  I  must  tell  you  that, 
one  year  before  this  conversation,  I  had,  during  a  visit  to  New 
York,  contracted  that  insidious  and  incurable  malady  the  ceramic 
fever.  The  seeds  being  sown  while  gazing  at  the  wonderful 
Sevres,  Dresden,  and  Oriental  wares  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum 
of  Art,  had  ripened  rapidly ;  and  being  still  further  developed  by 
a  week's  stay  in  Boston  with  a  fellow-sufferer,  a  prolonged  diet  of 
Chaffers,  Marryat,  and  Jacquemart,  and  a  trip  to  the  Exposition, 
I  was  at  this  era  in  the  most  violent  stage  of  the  fell  complaint. 
All  the  homes  of  my  near  relations  had  been  searched  and  sacked, 
distant  connections  and  friends  had  been  looked  up  and  inter- 
viewed with  regard  to  possible  possessions  of  pottery  and  porce- 
lain, and  I  was  now  sighing  for  new  worlds  to  conquer,  new  pan- 
tries to  plunder. 

My  sister  Louisa  had  for  some  months  shared  all  my  symp- 
toms, and  it  was  her  quick  eye  which  now  saw  in  Littlefield  a  fine 
field  for  research.  So  a  letter  of  acceptance  was  sent  to  my  old 
friend,  my  trunk  packed,  and,  three  days  after,  I  was  on  my  way 
to  Nell's  home. 

Four  hours,  with  one  change  of  cars,  brought  me  to  Greenville, 
where  I  left  the  train  and  looked  eagerly  around  for  my  friend. 
She  was  not  to  be  seen.  The  station  was  a  mere  hut ;  one  or 
two  men  were  lounging  on  the  platform,  and  a  colored  boy  of 
twelve  or  thirteen  was  turning  somersaults  for  their  benefit.  As 
the  train  moved  away,  and  I  was  left  behind  with  ray  trunk,  I 
spoke,  and,  addressing  the  general  public,  asked  how  far  it  was  to 


A    CHINA    URAZE.  119 

Littlefield.  The  small  darkey  ceased  his  acrobatic  performances, 
and  approaching  me,  said,  with  a  chuckle,  "  Gwine  to  Little- 
field?" 

"I  was  expecting  a  lady  from  there  to  meet  me,"  I  explained; 
"  Miss  Bates  was  to  have  been  here." 

"  Golly  !  Ps  Miss  Bates,"  said  the  black  imp. 

"  You  !"  I  cried,  bewildered. 

"  Yes'm.  Miss  Nell  she  couldn'  come  nohow,  an'  ole  Miss 
Bates  she  sent  me  to  fotch  yer,  an'  there's  yer  waggin."  Where- 
upon he  pointed  to  a  comfortable-looking  vehicle  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, and,  after  a  short  parley,  I  was  seated  in  it,  my  trunk  on 
behind,  and  my  small  charioteer  in  front. 

The  day  was  a  hot  one  in  August,  but  our  road  was  full  of 
shade  and  beauty,  and  the  air  sweet  and  spicy.  For  a  time  I 
forgot  everything  but  the  loveliness  about  me,  and  drank  it  in 
silently  as  I  leaned  back  in  the  easy  carriage.  But  as  we  passed 
an  ancient  farm-house,  I  spied  in  a  window  a  broken  cup,  and, 
like  turkey-cock  at  sight  of  scarlet  rag,  I  woke  to  action. 

"  I  suppose  Mrs.  Bates's  house  is  very  old,"  I  said  to  my  small 
escort. 

"  Yes'm,  orful  ole,"  chuckled  the  boy;  "  ole  as  'Thusalem  ;  ole 
as — 'Ole  Hundred;'  ole  as  ole  Mister  Ole  hisself;"  and  he 
laughed  shrilly  at  his  own  wit. 

"And  there  must  be  a  great  many  curious  old  things  there,"  I 
said,  suggestively. 

"  You  bet !"  was  the  concise  reply. 

"  Quaint  old  furniture,"  I  went  on,  "  and  ancient  books,  and — 
and  old  china  ?" 

"Yes'm.  Ole  chairs  an'  tableses  an'  stools  an'  sofys  an'  wash- 
stan's  an'  boxes  an'  bar'ls  an'  tubs  an'  pails  an'  bricks  an'  rags 
an'—" 

I  think  that  boy  would  have  gone  on  with  the  list  till  now,  had 


120  A    CHINA    CRAZE. 

I  not  desperately  exclaimed,  "Yes,  yes,  my  good  boy;  but  has 
Mrs.  Bates  any  curious  old  china — dishes,  you  know — bowls  or 
pitchers  ?" 

"  Chiny  ?  Why,  you  jest  wait,  an'  you'll  think  you  got  to 
Chiny  hisself  where  the  Chinymen  live.  There's  bowls  an'  cups 
an'  sarcers  an'  plates  an'  pitchers  an'  platters  an'  mugs  an'  jugs 
an'  jugs  an'  mugs  an'  mugs  an' — " 

"Oh,  stop — do  please  stop!"  I  cried,  nervously;  "you'll  fright- 
en the  horse."  And  indeed  a  braver  steed  might  have  been  star- 
tled, for  the  irrepressible  darkey,  besides  shouting  out  this  ceramic 
chant  at  the  top  of  his  shrill  voice,  accompanied  it  by  shaking 
the  reins  wildly  and  flourishing  his  whip.  Still,  in  spite  of  my- 
self, my  spirits  rose  at  this  inventory  of  the  Bates  antiques.  We 
are  so  credulous,  we  poor  victims  of  manie  a  poterie!  And  yet 
dreaming  of  hidden  treasures,  bearing  wonderful  marks  and  mys- 
tic ciphers,  I  reached  Littlefield. 

A  tiny  village  it  was  —  just  a  few  scattered  houses,  a  small 
church,  blacksmith's  shop,  and  post-office,  which  latter  was,  of 
course,  also  the  village  store.  A  mile  further  on,  and  we  stopped 
in  front  of  a  large,  lonesome  house,  and  I  was  informed  that  I 
had  reached  "  Miss  Bates's." 

An  old  lady  opened  the  door  and  peered  out  at  me.  She  was 
tall  and  erect,  with  silvery  hair,  a  pale,  anxious  face,  and  keen 
black  eyes,  which  were  now  bent  earnestly  upon  me.  She  did 
not  speak  till  I  had  alighted  from  the  carriage  and  was  close  to 
her,  and  then  she  said,  in  a  hesitating  tone,  while  her  dark  eyes 
still  searched  my  face,  "You  are  Ellen's  friend?  I  forget — for- 
get— "  and  she  paused,  with  a  troubled  look. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  taking  her  hand,  "I  am  Jane  Norton;  and  you, 
I  am  sure,  are  Nelly's  mother." 

Her  face  brightened,  the  puzzled  look  passed  away,  and  she 
said,  in  a  quieter  tone,  "Yes,  dear;  I  remember  now.    But  Ellen's 


A   CHINA    CRAZE.  121 

gone ;  she  was  called  away  sudden.  There's  a  letter  inside  for 
you.     Come  in,  my  dear." 

I  followed  her,  a  little  bewildered  at  the  turn  affairs  were  tak- 
ing-, into  a  large,  pleasant  sitting-room,  where  she  made  me  sit 
down,  and  gave  me  Nell's  note.  This  epistle  was  brief  and  to 
the  point,  having  been  written  very  hurriedly  just  before  starting 
on  a  journey.  A  telegram — how  did  it  ever  reach  this  out-of- 
the-way  spot? — had  summoned  her  to  the  bedside  of  a  dying 
uncle.  "  He  is  old,"  she  wrote,  "  and  quite  alone  in  the  world  ; 
so  you  see  I  must  go.  I  cannot  bear  to  lose  your  visit.  Will 
you  not  try  to  enjoy  yourself  for  a  day  or  two  without  me  ?  and 
I  shall  be  at  home  again  soon.  Poor  mother  will  be  very  lonely 
without  me,  and  your  presence  here  would  be  the  greatest  kind- 
ness to  us  both."  Then  more  regrets,  apologies,  and  loving  words, 
and  she  was  "  always  my  loving  old  friend,  Ellen  Bates." 

I  cannot  say  that  my  heart  did  not  sink  a  little  at  the  thought 
of  a  visit  in  this  far-away,  lonesome  spot,  with  no  companion  but 
this  pale,  sad  old  lady.  But  here  I  was.  I  could  certainly  not 
reach  home  that  day,  even  if  I  started  at  once.  Nell's  mother 
stood  looking  wistfully  at  me,  awaiting  my  decision,  and  I  resolved 
to  remain. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  I  said,  as  cheerfully  as  I  could,  "  that  Nelly  has 
been  called  away ;  but  if  you  will  let  me,  I  will  stay  a  little,  and 
try  to  take  her  place." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Bates,  warmly.  "  I  wanted  you 
to  stay.  We'll  get  along  real  nice  together,  an'  Ellen  '11  be  home 
before  we  know  it.  Now  lay  off  your  things.  Almiry  '11  show 
you  your  room." 

"Almiry,"  proved  to  be  the  mother  of  my  sable  guide  —  a 
portly  dame,  who  waddled  up-stairs  before  me,  puffing  and  blow- 
ing like  a  steam-tug,  and  led  the  way  to  the  room  assigned  me. 
It  was  a  large,  pleasant  chamber,  with  windows  looking  out  upon 


122  A   CHINA    CRAZE. 

an  old-fashioned  garden  such  as  delighted  my  eyes.  My  trunk 
was  brought  up  by  Almiry  and  her  imp  of  a  son — whose  name 
proved  to  be  Romulus — and  I  was  fairly  installed  in  the  Bates 
household.  After  washing  off  the  dust  of  travel  and  freshening 
myself  up  a  bit,  I  sat  down  in  one  of  the  wide  window -seats 
for  a  little  thinking.  "  After  all,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  looked 
dreamily  down  upon  the  big  roses  and  hollyhocks,  stately  lilies 
and  delicate  sweet-peas,  where  bees  were  rioting  and  butterflies 
glancing  in  the  sunshine,  "this  is  a  pleasant  spot,  and  perhaps  it 
is  as  well  that  Nelly  is  absent  just  at  first.  I  shall  be  thrown 
constantly  with  the  old  lady,  and  find  out  all  about  her  treasures. 
I  will  be  so  good  to  her — a  daughter  could  not  be  kinder — and 
the  poor  old  dear  will  give  me  all  she  has,  from  very  gratitude." 

From  this  bright  dream  I  was  aroused  by  Romulus,  who,  ap- 
pearing at  my  open  door,  informed  me  in  his  shrillest  tones  that 
supper  was  ready,  and  that  at  the  festive  board  there  was  to  be 
"bread  an'  biskits  an'  cookies  an'  ging'bread  an'  butter  an'  milk 
an'  tea  an'  pie  an'  quinch  jell'  an' " — a  great  deal  more,  which 
was  lost  as  his  voice  died  away  in  his  rattling  flight  down  the 
stairs. 

My  first  glimpse  of  the  well-filled  table  was  a  disappointment. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  plentiful  repast ;  the  bread  snowy  and  light, 
butter  golden  and  sweet,  amber  honey,  ruby  jellies,  and  rich  yel- 
low cream.  But  the  dishes  were  of  plain  white,  and  unmistaka- 
bly modern.  Perhaps,  however,  the  rarer,  more  ancient  pottery 
and  porcelain  were  carefully  packed  away — 

"  too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

I  hoped  so,  and  in  that  hope  ate  heartily  of  the  good  things  be- 
fore me.  Poor  Mrs.  Bates  seemed  sad  and  disturbed.  Her  hands 
shook  as  she  poured  the  tea,  and  her  voice  trembled  as  she  said, 


A   CHINA   CRAZE.  123 

again  and  again,  "  Ellen  hadn't  oughter  gone.  She  hadn't 
oughter  gone.  It  upsets  me.  I'm  older  'an  I  used  to  be,  an'  it 
upsets  me."  I  tried  to  talk  cheerfully,  and  at  times  she  bright- 
ened a  little,  and  seemed  interested  in  what  I  said.  But  her  at- 
tention soon  wandered,  her  black  eyes  had  a  restless,  uncertain 
light,  and  she  appeared  confused  and  bewildered.  She  addressed 
me  by  various  names — "Miss  Mosely,"  "Susan,"  and  "Aunt 
Ann  ;"  she  spoke  of  Ellen  occasionally  as  "  my  daughter  Lucindy," 
and  again  as  "  your  sister  Caroline." 

Dear  me,  I  thought,  this  is  dreadful.  The  poor  old  lady  is  in 
her  dotage.  Plow  can  I  stay  here  another  day  ?  But  after  Mrs. 
Bates  had  taken  her  cup  of  tea  she  was  more  composed,  and  later, 
as  we  sat  together  in  the  twilight,  I  found  her  really  a  pleasant, 
sensible  companion.  You  may  be  sure  I  tried  to  guide  the  con- 
versation toward  the  desired  goal,  and  soon  an  opportunity  oc- 
curred. We  spoke  of  the  Centennial,  and,  in  telling  of  my  visit 
to  the  Exposition,  I  alluded  to  the  pottery  and  porcelain  there. 
To  my  surprise  Mrs.  Bates  seemed  at  once  keenly  interested. 
"  Tell  me  about  the  crockery,"  she  said.  I  gladly  obeyed,  and 
dwelt  enthusiastically  upon  the  curious  Oriental  porcelain,  the 
Doulton-ware,  the  artistic  work  of  Minton,  Copeland,  and  Havi- 
land,  and  found  an  eager  listener. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  such  things,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  We  didn't  have  time  to  study  about  'em  when  I  was  a  girl. 
Plates  was  plates  then  to  be  eat  off  of,  an'  then  washed  an'  put 
away ;  an'  bowls  an'  pitchers  was  to  fill  with  good  healin'  drinks, 
boneset  an'  camermile  an'  hardhack,  an'  give  to  the  ailin'  an'  suf- 
ferin'.  But  I'd  kind  o'  like  to  get  an  idee  of  the  names  an'  valoo 
of  chiny  dishes,  because — well — "  She  hesitated,  and  my  heart 
beat  high  with  hope. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  encouragingl}-,  "because — " 

"  Well,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "  I've  got  some  things,  jest  a  few 


124  A   CHINA    CRAZE. 

things,  you  know.     Mebbe  not  worth  much  to  any  one  but  me. 

But  they're  old  enough,  an'  queer  enough.  Deary  me,  so  old  an' 
so  queer!"  She  paused  and  sat  thinking,  with  an  amused  smile 
on  her  wrinkled  face,  as  though  she  saw  with  her  mind's  eye  these 
queer  old  things. 

The  twilight  deepened,  and  still  she  spoke  not,  while  I  burned 
with  feverish  impatience.  Finally  I  ventured  to  say,  "  Perhaps  I 
could  tell  you  something  about  your  dishes,  dear  Mrs.  Bates.  I 
have  studied  the  subject  a  little."  No  reply.  I  waited  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  bending  forward,  looked  into  the  old  lady's  face. 
She  was  fast  asleep. 

"  How  provoking !"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and  I  on  the  very  verge 
of  discovery.  Never  mind.  I  know  now  that  she  has  something, 
and  that  something  I  will  see,  if  forced  to  remain  here  a  month 
for  the  purpose."  For  more  than  an  hour  Mrs.  Bates  slept  on, 
while  I,  seated  uncomfortably  on  a  low  stool  at  her  feet,  almost 
held  my  breath  lest  I  should  arouse  and  so  annoy  her.  When  at 
last  she  awoke,  it  was  to  summon  Almiry  to  light  the  lamps.  As 
the  cheerful  light  dissipated  the  darkness  in  which  we  had  been 
sitting,  1  saw  that  Mrs.  Bates's  face  was  paler,  and  that  her  eyes 
had  again  that  bewildered,  half-frightened  look. 

"Almiry,"  she  said,  mournfully,  "Ellen's  gone.  She  hadn't 
oughter  gone.  It  upsets  me.  Where's  Aunt  Eunice?  I  think 
she  might  come  and  keep  me  company." 

"  Massy  me,  honey  !"  chuckled  Almiry,  "Aunt  Eunice  is  in  her 
grave  as  comfo't'ble  as  can  be,  and  has  been  for  more'n  ten  year. 
Don'  go  ter  roustin'  her  up ;"  and  she  rolled  out  of  the  room. 

No  hope  of  ceramic  information  that  night.  Mrs.  Bates  was 
more  than  incoherent.  She  fairly  frightened  me  with  her  strange 
and  irrelevant  remarks ;  and  when,  addressing  me  as  "  'Lisha," 
she  coolly  requested  me  to  bring  her  "old  Miss  Bowles's  coffin — 
the  right-hand  one,  you  know,"  I  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  my  own 


A   CHINA   CRAZE.  125 

room.  Little  sleep  visited  my  pillow  that  night.  Thrice  was  I 
roused  from  my  slumbers  by  loud  knockings  at  my  door,  and  the 
querulous  voice  of  my  hostess,  once  inquiring  for  "Benjamin," 
and  again  reminding  me  that  "Parson  Williams  preached  off-han', 
an'  never  writ  no  discourses." 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear !"  I  groaned,  after  the  last  weird  interview  (I 
had  opened  my  door,  and  held  a  brief  colloquy  with  Mrs.  Bates, 
who  was  ghostly  in  her  white  night  garb,  and  with  long  gray 
hair  hanging  loosely  about  her  tall  form) — "  Oh  dear !  I  cannot 
endure  this.  She  frightens  me.  I  will  never  spend  another  night 
in  this  dreadful  house." 

But  the  day  dawned  clear  and  cloudless  ;  the  morning  breeze 
brought  delicious  odors  of  rose,  pink,  and  lily  to  my  sunny  room. 
I  remembered  my  hostess's  vague  but  delightful  hints  of  fictile 
treasure,  and — I  stayed.  Mrs.  Bates  seemed  calmer,  and  after 
breakfast  proposed  a  walk  in  the  garden.  While  we  slowly  paced 
the  pleasant  walks,  she  leaning  upon  my  arm,  the  old  subject  was 
introduced,  and  this  time  by  herself. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  will  you  give  an  old  woman  a  little  help 
with  your  learnin',  an'  tell  me  if  my  old  bowl  is  vallyble  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  dear  Mrs.  Bates,"  I  cried.  "  Let  us  go  in  at  once 
and  look  at  it.  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  oblige  dear  Ellen's 
mother." 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  cautiously  ;  "  not  now.  It's  put  away,  an' 
I'm  so  upset ;  but  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  Let  me  see."  She 
stopped  short,  shut  her  eyes,  and  seemed  thinking.  Then,  "  It's 
real  chiny,"  she  went  on  slowly,  as  though  seeing  the  dish  direct- 
ly before  her;  "real  thin,  an'  white  as  milk,  but  it's  pretty  hefty, 
an'  it's  got  posies  all  over  it,  jest  raised  up  a  little,  like  the  pie- 
crust leaves  on  the  top  of  a  chicken-pie,  you  know." 

"  In  color  ?"  I  asked,  breathlessly. 

"  No,  they  ain't  painted  ;  jest  white,  but  so  nateral — roses  all 


12G  A    CHINA    CRAZE. 

Mowed  out,  an1  leaves  an'  stems.  It's  real  tasty,  an1  I've  bad  it 
so  long.  Gramper  Fish  brought  it  home  from  t'other  side  in 
1760,  au'  ma  she  give  it  to  me  when  I  was  a  girl." 

I  was  faint  with  excitement  as  I  gasped  out,  "Is  there  any 
mark — anything  on  the  bottom,  I  mean?" 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  answered,  absently,  as  she  picked  a  rose-bug 
from  tbe  bush  by  wbich  we  stood. 

"Oh,  what  is  it,  please?"  I  cried. 

"  Well,  not  much ;  nothin'  half  so  pretty  as  the  roses  outside. 
There's  a  little  red  pictur'  on  the  bottom,  a  kind  o'  spear,  or — no, 
I'll  tell  ye :  it's  one  o'  them  things  Rom'lus  shoots  the  cats  an' 
chippy  birds  with — feathers  in  the  eend,  you  know." 

"An  arrow  !" 

"Yes,  a  arrer  ;  an'  there's  a  letter  too.  Lemme  see — it's  clean 
gone  out  o'  my  mind.  Oh  yes"  —  as  I  pressed  her  arm  impa- 
tiently—  "it's  a  B,  for  Betsy,  I  s'pose.  Granmer  Fish's  given 
name  was  Betsy." 

Dear  sympathetic  reader,  do  you  know  how  I  felt  ?  A  long- 
ing desire  to  be  alone  seized  me  irresistibly.  I  cannot  remember 
how  I  managed  it,  but  in  a  few  moments  I  found  myself  in  my 
own  chamber.  Sinking  into  a  chair,  I  breathed  out  one  word, 
"Bow!"  and  subsided.  My  recollections  of  the  next  half  hour 
are  very  misty.  I  recall  a  murmured  sentence  which  I  must  have 
repeated  very  often,  "Dear  old  lady,  how  good  I  will  be  to  her!" 
and  in  the  strength  of  this  resolve  I  passed  the  day.  I  waited 
on  that  erratic  old  person,  I  taught  her  new  knitting  stitches,  I 
read  aloud  to  her,  I  made  her  a  new  cap ;  but  I  utterly  failed  in 
making  her  resume  the  subject  on  which  my  eager  thoughts 
dwelt.  Once  I  ventured  to  remark  that  I  "  should  so  like  to 
help  her  about  that  bowl ;"  but  she  answered  querulously  that  she 
"couldn't  look  it  up  ;  she  was  upset  enough  now." 

A  weary  day.     My  patience  was  sorely  tried,  but  I  kept  my 


16.  Jackfield  Tea-pot  :  page  22 

[Brilliant  black  glaze  :  ornaments  in  relief.] 


17.  "Oh,  you  old  Thing!"  page  223. 

[White  pottery  :  flowers  in  colors  :  mark,  a  cross  :  Bristol.] 


A    CHINA   CRAZE.  129 

prize  ever  before  me,  and  so  endured.  After  her  tea,  which 
seemed  mildly  stimulating,  she  was  brighter.  She  sat  by  the 
open  window,  and  she  talked  of  her  youth,  her  marriage,  of  Ellen, 
and  a  son  who  had  died  young.  After  relating  an  anecdote  of  her 
grandfather,  I  ashed,  "  Was  it  he  who  brought  home  the  bowl  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  an'  the  vases.     He  fetched  'em  from  England." 

"  What  are  they  ?"  I  asked,  steadying  my  voice  and  repressing 
all  emotion. 

"  Why,  the  big  vases  in  the  chist  up  garrit.  Such  sightly 
chiny,  an'  mor'n  a  foot  high.  They're  blue  as  a  bluin'-bag,  an' 
got  birds  on  'em — such  birds  as  you  never  see  in  your  born  days, 
all  red  an'  gold  an'  green,  with  long  tails  an'  toj>knots."  ("Ex- 
otic birds,"  I  murmured.)  "An'  on  the  bottom,"  she  went  on, 
"  there's  a  anchor,  a  gold  anchor — 'cause  gramper  was  a  sea-cap'n, 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Bates,"  cried  I,  "  please  show  me  those  vases  " 
(using  my  lately  acquired  French  pronunciation). 

"  There  aint  no  varses  on  'em,  deary — not  a  word.  There's 
some  lines  on  my  mug,  though  —  my  tall  mug,  you  know,  with 
the  black  pictur'  of  a  man  on  horseback.  There's  some  nice 
varses,  an'  it  says  'Sadler'  under  the  pictur' — 'cause  o'  the  horse, 
I  s'pose." 

"A  Liverpool  mug,  with  one  of  John  Sadler's  prints!"  I  said 
to  myself,  but  dared  not  interrupt  my  hostess's  delightful  lo- 
quacity. 

"An'  I've  got  some  cups  and  sarcers,  real  chiny,  with  posies 
hangin'  in  strings  like  jumpin'  ropes"  ("Floral  festoons,"  I  soft- 
ly sighed),  "an'  gold  on  'em,  an'  on  the  bottom  is  a  blue  cross 
like,  an'  a  writin'  B."  (Did  Bristol  ever  use  a  cursive  B,  I 
thought,  with  its  distinctive  cross?)  "But  I'm  tired  now,"  said 
Mrs.  Bates.  "  I'm  goin'  to  bed,  an'  I  want  to  sleep  with  yon. 
I'm  lonesome.     Ellen's  gone,  an'  it  upsets  me." 

9 


130  A    CHINA    CRAZE. 

My  heart  failed.  Could  I  sleep  with  that  weird,  wandering 
figure,  who  had  haunted  me  the  night  previous  '.  But  she  spoke 
again.  "We'll  have  a  good  night's  rest, an'  to-morrer  we'll  look 
over  the  old  chiny.  Mebbe  there's  some  you'd  like  for  your 
own."  Jubilate  !  Why,  I  would  .share  my  room  with  the  Witch 
of  Endor  to  secure  Bow,  Chelsea,  and  Bristol. 

But  what  a  night !  In  the  first  place,  not  a  step  toward  repose 
would  the  old  lady  take  till  I  had  put  on  a  hideous  night-cap  of 
blue  calico,  with  white  polka  spots,  and  tied  a  red  silk  handker- 
chief about  my  neck.  "  Now  you  look  like  Aunt  Ann,"  she  said, 
contentedly,  "an'  I  ain't  so  lonesome."  Aunt  Ann  must  have 
been  a  lovely  specimen  of  humanity,  I  thought,  as  I  stole  a  hur- 
ried glance  at  the  mirror  and  crept  into  bed.  I  fell  asleep,  but 
only  to  be  aroused  by  a  vigorous  shake,  and  the  information, 
given  in  a  sepulchral  tone  by  Mrs.  Bates,  that  she  had  "  forgot  to 
read  the  Scripturs."  Whereupon  this  dreadful  female  produced 
a  sermon  preached  ages  ago  at  the  funeral  of  one  Jedediah  Bis- 
sell,  and  read  aloud,  in  a  husky  whisper,  till  I  again  dozed.  And 
so  was  it  through  the  night.  Once  a  white-robed  spectre  stood 
at  my  bedside,  and  held  to  my  lips  a  bowl  (very  modern — white 
stone  china)  of  a  nauseous  mixture.  My  fevered  brain  thoughl 
it  poison  then,  but  I  now  believe  it  to  have  been  the  harmless 
product  of  the  Eupatorium — in  plain  English,  boneset  tea. 

But  morning  came  at  last. .  I  had  hoped  to  leave  at  noon, 
reaching  home  that  night;  but  all  my  efforts  to  induce  Mrs. 
Bates  to  show  me  the  china  proved  vain.  She  threw  out  vague 
hints  from  time  to  time,  which  kept  me  in  constant  excitement, 
and  convinced  me  that  there  were  almost  priceless  treasures  in 
that  old  house.  Her  description  of  a  large  drinking-cup  broughl 
from  Germany  by  her  great-uncle — "snow-white  chiny,  with  po- 
sies an'  birds  on  it,"  and  bearing  on  the  bottom,  in  gold,  the  let- 
ters A  and   R  (which  she  thought  stood   for  Ann   Rathbun,  the 


A   CHINA   GRAZE.  131 

"Aunt  Ann"  of  her  nightly  visions,  but  which  I  at  once  inter- 
preted as  the  early  Dresden  mark  signifying  Augustus  Rex) — 
drove  me  nearly  wild  with  delight  and  longing.  She  once  asked 
me  abruptly  if  I  could  find  room  in  my  trunk  for  some  "  chiny 
playthin's — boys  an'  girls  an'  deers  an'  sech,"  which  she  supposed 
had  belonged  to  her  grandfather,  the  sea-captain,  as  they  bore  the 
gold  anchor,  and  also  a  D  "  for  his  given  name,  Dan'l."  "  Chel- 
sea-Derby figurines,"  I  thought,  with  rapture,  as  I  replied  that  I 
had  plenty  of  room. 

Only  upon  this  subject  of  her  "  chiny  "  did  she  talk  sensibly 
and  well.  In  other  matters  she  conducted  herself  so  like  a  luna- 
tic that  I  at  last  flew  to  Almiry  for  counsel. 

"  Never  you  mind,  honey,"  chuckled  that  jolly  lump  of  dark- 
ness, as  she  lifted  a  heavy  iron  pot  from  the  kitchen  stove,  her 
black  shiny  face  looking  out  from  clouds  of  steam.  "  She's  a 
little  out  o'  kilter  now,  'cause  Miss  Ellen's  gone;  but  she  won't 
hurt  ye,  an'  ye  mustn't  take  no  notice." 

With  this  I  was  fain  to  be  content,  though  my  courage  was 
put  to  the  test  when,  at  dinner,  Mrs.  Bates  placed  chairs  all  around 
the  table  "  for  the  mourners,"  and  asked  me  "  to  set  by  the  body." 
But  as  she  supplemented  these  eccentricities  with  a  regret  that 
she  "hadn't  put  the  custard  in  her  big  red  and  blue  bowl  that 
b'longed  to  Granmer  Sackett,"  I  was  patient. 

"  That  bowl's  a  real  sightly  dish,  an'  it's  got  a  half-moon  on 
the  bottom,  a  blue  one.  Gramper  Sackett  he  was  real  cute,  an' 
he  used  ter  say  that  you  wouldn't  see  sech  a  bowl  as  that  '  not 
once  in  a  blue  moon ;'  that's  a  sayin',  you  know,  like  '  never  an'  a 
day.'  An'  it's  got  a  W  on  it,  too,  an'  I  guess  it  come  from  Par- 
son Williams's  sale." 

Worcester,  I  mentally  decided,  and  smiled  sweetly  on  my  exas- 
perating hostess.  Unreliable  as  might  seem  information  from 
such  a  source,  I  felt  sure  that  these  tales  were  true.     How  could 


132  A   CHINA   CRAZE, 

this  old  country  dame,  utterly  unlearned  in  ceramic  lore,  describe 
the  decorations  and  marks  of  well-known  manufactories  unless 
she  had  really  seen  the  pieces  she  spoke  of? 

But  my  great,  my  crowning,  discovery  came  that  night.  We 
were  in  the  "  settin'-room ;"  lamps  had  just  been  brought,  and  I 
was  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  to  be  firm  and  decline  the  com- 
panionship of  my  aged  friend  through  the  night-watches,  when 
she  spoke. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  something,"  she  said,  in  a  solemn  tone, 
drawing  her  chair  nearer  mine.  "  I've  been  thinkin,  an'  thinkin', 
an'  I  guess  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  But  you  mustn't  let  on  I've 
told.  I've  got  something  up-stairs  I  never  showed  to  a  single 
cretur.  Ellen  never  see  it ;  Aunt  Ann  never  see  it.  The  way  I 
came  by  it  was  this.  Gramper  Sackett  had  a  brother  who  went 
over  to  France  in  1750,  an'  he  married  there  a  furrin  girl  who 
lived  to  Towers,  or  down  that  way  somewheres.  Weil,  this  girl's 
granmer,  she  was  a  furrin  woman,  too,  an'  she  give  this — thing — 
she  give  it  to  her  granddaughter,  Uncle  Sackett's  wife  —  Aunt 
Natty,  we  used  to  call  her.  An'  the  old  woman  told  Natty  she 
mustn't  never  let  on  to  a  livin'  soul  she'd  got  it,  for  it  come  inter 
the  family  in  a  kind  o'  left-handed  way.  's  a  body  might  say.  Seems 
she  was  a  kind  o'  waitin'-maid  to  a  rich  lady  when  she  was  a  girl, 
an'  one  day  she  was  a-dustin'  the  best  room,  an'  she  knocked  over 
a  little  table  full  of  gimcracks,  an'  this — thing — it  got  broke,  an' 
she  was  sear't,  an'  put  it  in  her  pocket,  an'  never  said  nothin'  to 
nobody.  An'  the  lady  she  conceited  souk;  o'  the  workmen  round 
the  house  had  took  it,  an' —  Well,  there's  a  long  riggermarole 
about  it;  but  the  long  an'  short  of  it  is,  it's  awful  vallyble,  an' 
I've  got  it." 

"But  what  is  it?"  I  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  it's  a  kind  o'  candlestick,  I  guess.  It's  pretty  tall,  an' 
there's  some  boys,  without  any  clothes  on  to  speak  of,  a-standin' 


A   CHINA    CRAZE.  133 

at  the  sides,  an'  kind  o'  holdin'  it  up ;  an'  each  one  o'  the  boys 
lie's  a  standin'  on  a  face,  a  man's  face ;  an'  there's  flowers  all 
strung  together,  and  hangin'  down  ;  and  there's  figgers  all  over  it, 
zigzaggin'  aroun'.  An'  I  can  make  out  some  letters — lots  of  G's, 
an'  an  A,  an'  a  H." 

"Anything  else?"  I  asked,  faintly,  afraid  to  believe  too  soon. 

".Yes,  there's  lots  o'  half-moons  all  twisted  in  together.  An' 
— there's  roosters'  heads  all  aroun'  the  bottom." 

"  What  color  is  it,  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Bates  ?" 

"  There's  a  lot  o'  colors ;  but  there's  more  yeller  than  any- 
thing, an'  brown  an'  pink." 

Was  I  dreaming?  Was  this  plain  old  woman  telling  me,  in 
her  homely  dialect,  that  she  possessed,  hid  away  in  that  old 
brown  house,  a  treasure  such  as  Old- World  potentates  sought  in 
vain  ?  And  yet  how  could  I  be  mistaken  ?  Only  a  few  days  be- 
fore I  left  home  I  had  read  over  carefully  a  description  of  the 
Henri  Deux  ware  (faience  d'Oiron) ;  and  how  like  the  old  lady's 
story  of  her  candlestick,  though  told  in  homelier  phrase !  My 
brain  reeled.  I  thought  of  the  Rothschilds  and  Prince  Galitzin, 
and  already  saw  my  humble  name  inscribed  near  theirs  as  the 
possessor  of  a  Henri  Deux  candlestick.  So  absorbed  was  I  in 
this  delightful  reverie  that  I  quite  forgot  to  oppose  any  objection 
to  Mrs.  Bates's  sharing  my  room,  and  she  quietly  followed  me 
there. 

Not  one  Avink  of  sleep  did  I  snatch  during  that  fearful  night. 
Oh,  the  strange  freaks,  the  incomprehensible  vagaries,  of  that 
dreadful  woman !  What  did  she  not  do — from  washing  her 
night-cap  and  hanging  it  out  of  the  window,  to  singing  "  Wind- 
ham," and  praying  loudly  for  Andrew  Jackson's  soul? 

Finally,  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  she  left  the  room,  and  I  heard 
her  bare  feet  pattering  over  the  hall  floor.  I  wondered  if  I 
ought  to  follow  her.     Might  she  not  come  to  harm  ?     I  was  just 


134  A    CHINA    CRAZE. 

rising  from  the  bed,  when  quick  steps  approached,  and  Mrs.  Bates 
rushed  suddenly  upon  me.  Her  black  eyes  Hashed  lire,  and  there 
was  an  angry  flush  on  her  thin  cheeks.  Seizing  me  by  the  arm, 
her  lean  bony  fingers  compressing  the  flesh  till  I  almost  screamed 
with  pain,  she  said,  hoarsely,  "AY here  are  they?  where've  you 
hid  'em  ?" 

In  vain  I  tried  to  soothe  her  and  release  myself.  She  held  me 
tightly;  she  shook  me;  she  glared  at  me,  and  still  cried,  "Give 
'em  here  !     You've  stolen  'em  ;  you've  got  my  chiny  !" 

I  protested  my  innocence ;  I  begged  her  to  be  calm.  In  vain. 
At  last  she  let  go  my  arm,  and  before  I  could  prevent  it,  seized  a 
pitcher  of  water,  and  dashed  the  whole  contents  over  me.  Then 
laughing  wildly,  rushed  from  the  room  and  locked  the  door. 

Drenched,  shivering,  frightened,  there  I  remained  for  two 
whole  hours,  when  Almiry  came  to  my  rescue.  As  the  sable 
dame  unlocked  the  door,  I  literally  fell  upon  her  capacious  bosom 
and  wept. 

"  There,  there,  ye  poor  chile !  now  don't  cry.  Did  ole  lady 
scare  ye?  Well,  she's  clean  out  of  her  wits  to-day,  but  she 
wouldn't  hurt  a  flea." 

"Oh,  Almiry!"  I  sobbed,  like  a  three-year-old  baby,  "I  want 
to  go  home." 

"So  ye  should,  honey.  Rom'lus  shall  drive  ye  over  to  Gre<  n- 
ville  as  soon  as  ye've  had  yer  breakfus." 

So  I  wrote  a  note  to  Nell,  telling  her  that  as  her  mother  did 
not  seem  quite  well,  I  feared  my  visit  was  only  an  annoyance, 
and  thus  explained  my  departure.  "I  am  sorry,"  1  added,  "for 
your  dear  mother  and  I  were  becoming  good  friends,  and  she  had 
promised  me  a  sight  of  her  wonderful  china.  May  I  not  come 
again,  when  you  are  once  more  at  home,  and  feast  my  eyes  upon 
her  collection?"  Mrs.  Bates,  under  the  influence  of  a  soothing 
draught  administered  by  Almiry,  was  fast  asleep  when  L  left  the 


.1    CHINA    CRAZE.  135 

house,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  did  not  disturb  her.  Ah,  the 
free  air,  the  delicious  sense  of  liberty,  as  I  drove  from  the  door! 
I  was  as  bappy  as  an  uncaged  bird,  and  laughed  like  a  child 
when  Romulus  told  me  that  "  ole  Miss  Bates  "  was  "  crazy — crazy 
as  a  loon,  crazy  as  a  coot,  crazy  as  a  idjut,  crazy  as  Ole  Crazy 
hisself." 

A  few  days'  after  my  return  I  received  a  letter  from  Nell, 
which  ran  thus : 

"You  poor  dear  child!  What  a  time  you  must  have  had 
with  my  blessed  mother !  My  sudden  departure,  uncle's  illness, 
and  the  arrival  of  a  stranger  were,  all  combined,  too  much  for  her 
mind,  already  weakened  by  age  and  sorrow.  My  return  and  a 
few  days  of  absolute  quiet  have  done  much  to  restore  her,  and 
she  is  now  almost  her  old  self. 

"  I  fear  you  were  much  worried  and  troubled  in  consequence 
of  her  condition.  As  for  the  china,  you  dear  deluded  girl,  that 
exists  only  in  poor  mamma's  weak,  unsettled  brain,  and  in  Mar- 
ryat's  '  History  of  Pottery  and  Porcelain,'  a  copy  of  which  de- 
lightful  work  was  sent  me  last  winter  by  an  old  friend,  and  has 
been  read  aloud  by  me  every  evening  of  late.  We  have  so  few 
books,  and  make  the  most  of  those  we  can  secure.  So  dear 
mother  has  listened  over  and  again  to  pages  of  this  volume,  look- 
ed at  the  marks  and  ciphers,  and  watched  me  trace  and  color 
them,  as  I  have  often  done  for  my  amusement. 

"  She  did  not  mean,  I  am  sure,  to  deceive  you,  but  really 
thought,  while  talking,  that  she  owned  the  wonders  she  had 
heard  and  read  of.  No,  Jane  dear,  we  have  no  rare  china.  Grand- 
father's house,  which  really  contained  some  valuable  antiques,  was 
burned  many  years  ago,  and  nothing  saved.  But  my  poor  uncle, 
whose  illness  kept  me  from  you,  and  who  passed  quietly  away  on 
Friday,  left  me  his  household  goods,  very  few  and  of  small  worth. 
Among  them  I  find  an   old  Worcester  plate,  which  I  beg  you 


136  A   CHINA   CRAZE. 

will  accept  in  lieu  of  the  wonders  dear  mamma  did  not  show 
you." 

The  plate  arrived  in  due  season,  and  proved  to  be  a  saucer- 
shaped  dish  of  early  Worcester  porcelain,  with  Crescent  mark,  the 
decoration  a  mighty  dragon  lying  in  brilliant  blue  on  the  pure 
white  porcelain.  (See  111.9.)  It  has  an  honored  place  in  my 
small  collection.  But  1  never  gaze  upon  it  without  remembering 
the  bright  hopes,  the  eager  expectance,  the  exultant  emotions,  I 
found,  but  lost  so  cruelly,  in  my  visit  to  Littlefield. 


VIII. 

AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  POTTERY. 

One  of  our  members,  Mr.  Whitney,  entered  the  club  only  when 
he  found  that  ceramic  art  had  some  connection  with  American 
history.  He  was  a  despiser  of  all  collectors  of  old  china.  He 
was  given  to  that  stupid  sort  of  ridicule  which  the  ignorant  are 
accustomed  to  bestow  on  collectors.  He  considered  ceramic  art 
as  nothing  but  a  study  of  monstrosities,  grotesques,  horrid  objects 
with  glittering  surfaces.  Where  did  that  notion  originate  ?  It 
is  a  very  common  idea,  repeated  by  scores  of  writers.  Probably 
some  penny-a-iiner  of  the  last  century  once  saw  in  a  collection  a 
Chinese  kylin,  or  a  "  Dog  Fo,"  and  straightway  went  home  and 
wrote  that  all  collections  of  China  were  gatherings  of  hideous  ob- 
jects. And  another  penny-a-liner  stole  his  ideas,  and  others  pla- 
giarized from  them  both,  and  thus  the  ridiculous  notion  has  been 
always  stolen  goods.  Surely  no  one  who  can  write  English,  and 
who  ever  saw  a  porcelain  collection,  however  meagre,  could  de- 
scribe it  as  made  up  of  ugliness  in  form  or  color. 

Mr.  Whitney,  who  had  his  own  hobby — to  wit,  American  his- 
tory— had  read  and  accepted  this  slander.  But  one  day,  in  his 
own  household,  he  was  astonished  at  hearing  Mrs.  Whitney,  who 
is  an  active  member  of  our  club,  talking  with  Mrs.  Hall  about  an 
American  map  on  a  Liverpool  pitcher. 

"  Map  on  what  ?"  interrupted  the  historian. 

"  On  a  pitcher,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady. 

"Aren't  you  getting  a  little  mixed?"  said  he,  looking  anxiously 


138      AMERICAN  HISTOBY  ILLUSTRATED   IN  POTTERY. 

at  his  wife — who  had,  1  regret  to  say,  little  interest  in  Lis  pecul- 
iar pursuits.     "  What  have  pitchers  to  do  with  maps?" 

"Nothing  special  that  I  know  of." 

"Then  what  map  are  you  talking  about?" 

"An  old  map  <>f  America,  on  a  Washington  pitcher  that  Dr. 
Hall  had  at  the  China  Club  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Whitney  was  puzzled,  but  didn't  care  to  say  so  until  Mrs. 
Hall  went  away,  and  then  he  requested  Mrs.  Whitney  to  give  him 
a  categorical  answer  to  his  former  question  about  the  connection 
between  maps  of  America  and  Liverpool  pitchers.  And  when  he 
awoke  to  the  fact  that  his  wife  had  seen  a  map  of  America  on 
a  cream-ware  pitcher,  and  that  Hudson's  Bay  was  thereon  called 
James  Bay,  and  Louisiana  stretched  away  up  to  Lake  Superior, 
and  was  also  called  the  Country  of.  Mines,  Mr.  Whitney  literally 
went  for  that  pitcher. 

Since  that  time  he  has  been  an  active  member  of  the  club, 
chiefly  interested  in  potteries  and  porcelains  with  decorations  re- 
lating to  America,  but  gradually  becoming  subject  to  the  fascina- 
tions of  beauty  in  form  and  color,  as  well  as  the  general  histori- 
cal and  artistic  characteristics  of  ceramic  art.  He  has  searched 
the  books,  and  searched  houses,  and  searched  collections  all  over 
the  country  for  specimens  with  American  subjects  in  the  decora- 
tions. There  are  doubtless  a  great  many  which  none  of  us  have 
heard  of,  for  new  examples  wen,  reported  at  every  meeting. 

"I  cannot  find,"  said  Mr.  Whitney  at  one  of  our  meetings, 
"that  any  American  subjects  were  placed  on  pottery  or  porcelain 
before  the  Revolutionary  war.  The  English  potters  did  not  give 
the  colonists  any  credit  for  love  of  country  in  those  days,  but 
took  it  for  granted  their  tastes  were  the  <:mw  with  their  relatives 
in  England.  Some  few  years  after  the  war,  however,  the  Liver- 
pool potters  seem  to  have  acquired  a  dim  notion  that  the  Ameri- 
cans were  another  people,  and  had  their  own  great  men  and  their 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  TOTTERY.       139 

own  events  to  perpetuate.  So  they  made  a  little  crockery  to  suit 
the  American  market. 

"Washington  and  Franklin  were  the  American  names  best 
known  in  England  before  the  year  1800.  Nothing  in  ceramic 
art  proves  that  any  other  Americans  had  been  heard  of,  with  the 
single  exception  that  Josiah  Wedgwood,  for  some  reason  wholly 
unexplained,  made  a  medallion  head  of  William  Franklin,  son  of 
Benjamin  Franklin,  who  was  the  last  Royalist  governor  of  New 
Jersey,  but  not  as  well  known  here  as  a  hundred  other  men. 
Probably  his  father's  reputation  in  England  led  Wedgwood  to 
produce  his  portrait.  Possibly  he  ordered  it  himself,  for  Wedg- 
wood made  jasper  portraits  to  order. 

"After  1800,  the  English  potters  began  to  know  more  about 
American  people  and  things,  as  we  shall  see  presently ;  but  it  is 
noteworthy  that  hitherto  I  have  not  found  a  portrait  of  Jefferson 
on  any  pottery,  unless,  as  I  am  inclined  to  suspect,  No.  10  in  the 
list  below  is  intended  for  him.  It  is  difficult,  if  at  all  possible, 
to  date  any  English  potteries  with  American  decorations  earlier 
than  1800,  except  the  Wedgwood,  Enoch  Wood,  and  Neale  &  Co. 
specimens  in  the  list  which  I  have  made.  Some  of  the  Washing- 
ton prints  may  have  been  made  before  his  death.  Most  of  them 
were  of  later  date. 

"  Porcelain  with  American  decorations,  either  old  or  modern, 
is  by  no  means  common.  A  Niderviller  group  of  Franklin  and 
the  French  king  is  of  the  last  century,  before  the  death  of  Count 
Custine ;  as  are  the  two  services  made  for  presentation  to  Wash- 
ington and  Mrs.  Washington  by  French  officers  of  the  Revolution- 
ary army.  Porcelain  Avas  rare  in  this  country  in  ante-revolution- 
ary days.  The  forefathers  were  not  wealthy  as  a  people,  and 
some  of  the  men  whose  names  are  best  known  in  our  history 
were  brought  up  to  eat  from  wood  or  pewter.  It  is  by  no  means 
sure  that  Washington  had  ever  used  porcelain  until  he  received 


140       AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILL  1ST  HATED  IN  TOTTERY. 

the  presentation  services,  and  they  were  on  the  whole  very  poor 
affairs. 

"I  have  sought  examples  of  porcelain  known  to  have  belonged 
to  Americans  before  the  Revolution,  and  rind  them  very  rare. 
One  family,  known  to  members  of  the  club,  possesses  all  that  re- 
mains of  a  very  beautiful  service  of  Chinese  porcelain  which  has 
been  in  the  family  since  1760,  and  may  possibly  have  been  at 
that  time  inherited  from  an  ancestor.  The  lady  who  then  owned 
it  in  her  youth  died  in  1831,  at  over  ninety  years  of  age,  and  it 
descended  to  her  grandson,  who  now  possesses  it.  The  decora- 
tion is  in  an  old  and  rather  Persian  style,  a  centre  group  of  water- 
plants  in  green,  chocolate,  red  and  gold,  surrounded  by  a  circle 
of  blue  pointed  arches  decorated  with  scrolls  like  Rhodian  bor- 
ders, from  between  which  project  pointed  leaves  of  white  enamel 
veined  with  pink.  (See  111.  10.)  A  specimen  so  long  in  Amer- 
ica is  worthy  special  notice." 

Here  Mrs.  Smith  remarked  that  she  had  seen  a  small  punch- 
bowl on  which  was  painted  in  colors  a  picture  of  a  boat,  bearing 
the  American  flag  and  filled  with  men,  capturing  a  British  ship. 

"I  have  seen  the  bowl,"  resumed  Mr.  Whitney.  "It  appears 
to  refer  to  some  event  in  the  course  of  the  Revolutionary  war. 
It  does  not  seem  so  recent  as  the  last  war.  Probably  it  was 
painted  to  order,  at  Canton. 

"  It  appears  to  be  well  settled  that  decorations  were  executed 
to  order  at  or  near  Canton  in  the  last  and  early  part  of  this  cen- 
tury. It  is  from  this  fact  that  so  much  debate  and  dispute  arises 
as  to  what  is  Lowestoft  ware.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  meet  with 
porcelain  painted  or  enamelled  with  American  subjects.  Some  of 
these  are  unquestionably  Chinese.  I  have  seen  a  large  punch-bowl, 
having  in  the  bottom  a  portrait,  in  colors,  of  an  American  gen- 
tleman, wearing  the  decoration  of  the  Cincinnati.  Around  him 
thirteen  large  black  rings  interlinked  in  a  circle,  the  name  of  a 


18.  Benny  Arnold's  Plate:  page  210. 

[Pottery,  Delft :  decoration  in  colors.] 


19.  Perry  Plate  :  page  223. 

[White  pottery  :  black  print :  impressed  mark,  Davenport.] 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  rOTTERY.       143 

State  in  gold  on  each  ring :  then  on  the  interior  side  of  the  howl, 
hanging  from  the  border  ornament,  is  the  Cincinnati  badge.  The 
style  of  painting  is  Chinese,  though  the  portrait  is  quite  well 
done.  The  bowl  was  sold  by  a  dealer  in  New  York  to  a  collec- 
tor. A  tea-service  of  Chinese  porcelain  has  the  arms  of  the  State 
of  New  York  wretchedly  painted  in  colors  on  each  piece.  Occa- 
sionally one  finds  a  cup  with  an  American  ship  painted  on  it. 

"  There  is  a  very  pretty  decoration  which  I  have  seen  on  two 
or  three  different  services  in  families,  and  which  would  therefore 
seem  to  have  been  a  rare  instance  of  a  porcelain  decoration  de- 
signed for  general  sale  in  or  to  the  American  market.  It  is  the 
American  Eagle  and  Shield,  in  brown  touched  with  gold.  It  ap- 
pears invariably  on  porcelains  which  are  classed  as  Lowestoft, 
usually  on  breakfast  and  tea  services.  I  will  not  undertake  to 
affirm  whether  these  are  indeed  English  or  Chinese  wares  or  dec- 
orations. 

"  In  the  collection  of  a  friend  of  mine  is  a  very  bold  and  strik- 
ing quart  mug,  of  fine  porcelain,  the  ground  color  a  rich  dark 
blue,  with  embossed  ornaments  in  gold.  A  gilded  medallion  head 
of  Washington  is  on  one  side,  a  similar  head  of  Franklin  on  the 
other,  and  a  very  moderndooking  American  eagle. with  shield  on 
the  front.  The  mug  bears  the  Dresden  mark.  The  owner  does 
not  regard  it  as  an  old  specimen. 

"  Probably  many  statuettes  of  Washington  and  Franklin  were 
produced  at  factories  in  Europe  toward  the  close  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. Franklin  and  Louis  XVI.,  as  already  stated,  appear  to- 
gether in  a  Niderviller  group,  made  in  porcelain  bisque.  It  is 
not  unlikely  that  Count  Custine,  who  became  proprietor  of  that 
factory  about  1781,  and  whose  services  in  the  war  of  the  Revolu- 
tion had  endeared  Americans  to  him,  as  well  as  him  to  them,  ex- 
ecuted other  American  pieces.     But  I  cannot  hear  of  any  such. 

"  Richard  Champion,  the  Bristol  potter,  who  was  a  warm  lover 


144      AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IX  TOTTERY. 

of  the  American  colonists,  whose  sympathies  were  wholly  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  and  who  finally  came  to  South  Carolina  to 
die,  does  not  seem  to  have  made  any  porcelain  decorated  specially 
for  American  purchasers.  He  probably  sent  some  here,  but  I  can- 
not find  that  he  decorated  any  with  American  designs.  Mr.  Owen, 
in  his  history  of  the  Bristol  fabrics,  gives  an  engraving  of  one 
of  Champion's  flower  plaques,  an  oval  8f  by  7£  inches,  having  a 
medallion  head  of  Franklin,  surrounded  by  rich  wreaths  of  roses 
and  other  flowers,  in  highly  raised  work,  and  states  that  another 
specimen  of  the  same  head  is  known  on  a  plain  ground  plaque. 
The  latter  had  been  attributed  to  Sevres,  and  it  is  not  impossible 
that  other  specimens  of  this  very  rare  Bristol  piece  may  be  found 
thus  attributed.  A  letter  to  Champion  from  Paris,  dated  January 
3d,  1*778,  speaks  of  a  visit  to  Franklin,  and  his  thanks  to  Cham- 
pion for  a  present  of  what  was  perhaps  this  or  possibly  another 
medallion.  '  lie  (Franklin)  says  that  there  is  a  good  likeness  with 
Wedgwood  &  Bentley's,  only  with  this  difference,  that  he  wears 
his  hair,  which  is  rather  straight  and  long,  instead  of  a  wig,  and 
is  very  high  in  his  forehead.'  This  sentence,  quoted  from  the 
letter,  is  not  precisely  intelligible.  Wedgwood's  medallion,  Mr. 
Owen  says,  has  the  wig.  But  the  Champion  medallion  lias  no 
straight  hair.  Perhaps  Champion  made  another  and  different 
medallion. 

"  In  Wedgwood's  Catalogue  of  1787,  among  his  Cameos,  I  find 
No.  1703,  General  Washington;  No.  1736,  Dr.  Franklin:  among 
the  Intaglios,  made  chiefly  for  seals,  No.  380,  General  Washing- 
ton; No.  390,  Dr.  Franklin.  Among  the  Medallion  Heads  of  Il- 
lustrious Moderns  (which  were  either  in  black  basaltes  or  blue 
and  white  jasper)  appear  General  Washington,  Governor  (A\  il- 
liam)  Franklin,  and  Dr.  Franklin.  I  have  seen  also  a  fine  bust  of 
Washington  in  Wedgwood's  black  basaltes. 

"It  is  quite  evident  that  none  of  these  were  made  specially  for 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  POTTERY.       145 

the  American  market.  Few  ever  reached  this  country,  and  speci- 
mens of  all  are  very  rare. 

"  Two  exceptional  services,  presented  to  Washington  and  Mrs. 
Washington,  may  be  noticed  among  porcelains  with  American 
decorations.  Descriptions  of  these  are  given  in  Mr.  Lossinifs 
'  Mount  Vernon  and  its  Associations.'  They  do  not  seem  to  be 
remarkably  good  examples  of  the  ceramic  art  of  their  period, 
which  was  one  of  great  splendor  in  European  factories;  but  these, 
so  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  are  quite  ordinary  fabrics,  with  dec- 
orations carelessly  placed  on  them  to  suit  the  order  given  by  pur- 
chasers. One  service  has  for  decoration  the  badge  of  the  Society 
of  the  Cincinnati.  The  other  has  the  names  of  thirteen  States 
arranged  in  an  ornamental  pattern.  The  painting,  in  colors,  on 
both  is  of  an  ordinary  class.  At  a  sale  in  New  York  in  1876 
two  of  the  former  were  sold  for  $100  each,  and  one  of  the  latter 
for  $215.  I  did  not  see  these  specimens.  Pieces  were  in  the 
Patent  Office  cases  at  the  Centennial  Exhibition  in  Philadelphia, 
but  of  course  one  could  not  examine  them  closely.  They  looked 
like  so-called  Lowestoft,  and  may  have  been  Chinese,  English,  or 
of  some  French  factory.  As  ceramic  specimens  they  have  no 
value,  but  as  historical  relics  they  are  priceless. 

"  In  that  same  New  York  sale  were  also  catalogued  some  other 
porcelains  specially  decorated  for  American  families,  but  the  cat- 
alogue is  not  fully  intelligible.  'An  oval  Oriental  china  platter 
of  greenish  hue  highly  decorated  in  many  colors,'  is  described  as 
bearing  the  letters  D.  W.  M.  C.  in  monogram,  and  having  the 
bottom  '  covered  with  a  landscape,  in  which  the  Erie  Canal  is  a 
prominent  feature.'  If  correctly  described  as  Oriental  ware,  this 
must  be  a  quite  late  specimen  of  Chinese  painting  of  a  furnished 
pattern. 

"A  two-handled  porcelain  cup,  decorated  with  the  badge  of  the 
Society  of  the  Cincinnati,  '  which  belonged  to  General  Knox,'  is 

10 


146      AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  POTTERY. 

described  in  the  same  catalogue  :  and  a  porcelain  saucer,  with  an 
American  frigate  under  full  sail,  is  described  as  once  owned  by 
Commodore  Bainbridge.  I  have  referred  to  a  china  cup  with  an 
American  ship  on  it,  a  rudely  executed  painting',  and  it  is  quite 
likely  many  such  were  made  in  China. 

"Toward  the  close  of  the  last  century,  or  early  in  this  century, 
the  Liverpool  potters  made  a  few  mugs,  pitchers,  and  other  ob- 
jects with  American  decorations  in  prints.  Perhaps  this  was  due 
to  the  presence  there  of  ship-masters  from  this  country,  who  sug- 
gested or  furnished  designs  for  engravers.  Staffordshire  potters 
followed  the  Liverpool  lead,  but  much  the  larger  number  of  speci- 
mens found  seem  to  be  wares  from  the  Herculaneum  pottery  at 
Liverpool.  Engraving,  as  wrell  as  other  work,  was  comparatively 
cheap  in  Liverpool  seventy  or  eighty  years  ago.  This  is  evident 
from  the  existence  of  many  specimens,  of  which,  from  their  char- 
acter, it  would  seem  few  were  made.  Elaborate  prints  of  mere 
local  interest  are  found,  which  were  of  course  engraved  specially, 
and  which  would  now  be  quite  costly.  That  ship-masters  ordered 
some  of  these  is  evident  from  numerous  specimens  bearing  their 
names.  Sometimes  a  date  is  given  with  the  name,  but  oftener 
there  is  no  date.  Thus,  on  the  reverse  of  a  pitcher  which  has  the 
Washington  print,  numbered  10,  is  a  ship  whose  name  is  given, 
The  Friendship,  and  the  owner's  name  is  added  in  two  lines: 

JOHN  WATTS 
MOULTON. 

"On  another  Washington  pitcher,  with  the  Apotheosis  print, is 

the  name  of  a  ship,  and  also  the  owner's  name,  and  the  date  1805. 
(See  No.  18,  below.)  Dated  Washington  pitchers  are  useful,  be- 
cause the  Washington  prints  arc  accompanied  on  various  speci- 
mens by  various  reverse  pictures,  and  these  again  occur  on  other 
pitchers,  and    thus   an   approximate   date   may  be    obtained   for 


A3IERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  TOTTERY .       147 

many  specimens.  Tlie  print  of  a  map  of  the  United  States,  by 
which  Washington  and  Liberty  stand,  occurs  on  a  pitcher  dated 
Anno  Domini  1804.  A  plan  of  the  City  of  Washington  occurs 
on  a  pitcher  bearing  also  the  print  of  a  monument,  with  legends 
above  and  below,  "  Washington  in  glory,"  "America  in  tears.1' 
This  was  of  course  made  after  the  laying  out  of  the  city,  as  well 
as  after  the  death  of  Washington.  Of  course  these  prints  were 
on  hand  in  the  factories,  and  could  be  used  from  year  to  year. 
But  they  seem  to  date  specimens  as  not  very  far  from  the  years 
which  are  found  on  some  of  them. 

"  The  number  of  stars  on  the  American  flag,  which  is  found  in 
prints,  is  no  safe  guide  to  dates.  The  English  designers  did  not 
keep  accurate  information  on  this  point,  and  we  frequently  find 
the  flag  with  too  few  stars  for  the  evident  date.  The  name  Bos- 
ton occurring  in  lists  of  States  on  some  specimens  shows  that  the 
United  States  were  not  well  known  to  designers  for  English  pot- 
teries. They  had  at  the  Herculaneum  Pottery  several  engravings 
of  ships  with  the  American  flag,  and  one  of  these  was  easily  used 
to  decorate  one  side  of  a  pitcher  which  had  some  American  de- 
sign on  the  other  side.  The  owner's  name  was  generally  put  in 
large  letters  across  the  front,  under  the  nose  or  near  the  bottom. 
Sometimes  the  ships  or  the  waves  of  water  only  were  painted  in 
colors  over  the  print ;  and  sometimes  the  name  of  the  owner  and 
other  parts  of  the  pitcher  were  brightened  up  with  gold  lacquer. 

"  So  many  of  these  pitchers  were  made  at  the  Herculaneum 
Works,  that  they  had  a  large  engraving  made  which  I  find  fre- 
quently used,  including  an  American  Eagle  with  Shield,  a  rib- 
bon with  E  Pluribus  Unum,  and  the  words  Herculaneum  Pot- 
tery Liverpool,  in  large  letters.  This  was  used  on  the  fronts 
of  pitchers  made  for  America.  I  have  kept  a  memorandum 
list  of  old  ceramic  objects  which  in  form  or  decoration  refer  to 
our  country,  or  its  eminent  men.     The  list  is  far  from  perfect,  as 


148      AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IX  POTTERY. 

I  find  constant  occasion  to  add  to  it.  It  may  be  of  use  to  mem- 
bers  of  the  club,  and  I  will  place  it  at  their  disposal,  hoping  they 
will  not  fail  to  add  to  it  descriptions  of  all  such  specimens  as 
come  under  their  notice.  Nearly  every  piece  in  the  list  I  have 
personally  examined,  but  in  a  few  cases  I  have  been  furnished 
with  descriptions.  I  have  not'  attempted  a  full  account  of  the 
prints,  but  have  abbreviated  them,  giving  only  such  prominent 
features  as  will  serve  to  identify  them.  The  same  Washington 
print  is  accompanied  on  different  specimens  by  such  a  variety  of 
other  pictures,  that  I  have  simply  catalogued  the  prints  relating 
to  Washington,  and  not  attempted  to  describe  the  various  speci- 
mens." 

1.  Cameo.      Head  of  Washington:    Wedgwood.      (This  occurs  in  Wedg- 

wood's Catalogue  of  P787.     The  Cameos  are  described  as  made  both 
in  white  on  colored  grounds  and  also  in  pure  white) 

2.  Intaglio.      Head  of  Washington:    Wedgwood.      (This  is  among  the  In- 

taglios in  the  same  catalogue.     It  was  small,  to  be  used  as  a  seal, 
made  of  black  ware  highly  polished.) 

3.  Medallion.     Head  of  Washington :    Wedgwood.     (This  appears  in  same 

catalogue  under  "Heads  of  Illustrious  Moderns,''  "made  either  in 
the  black  basaltes  or  blue  and  white  jasper.") 

4.  Bust.     Black  basaltes :  height,  13  inches.     Washington.      Wedgwood. 

5.  Oval.     Pottery.     Head  of  Washington  in  relief.      Neali  &  Co.,  llanley. 

6.  Print.     Head  of  Washington  from  Stuart's  portrait.     Black  print  in  an 

oval.     On  pitchers  and  on  plaques. 

7.  Print.     Medallion  head  of  Washington,  on  a  monument  in  a  landscape: 

legends,  at  top  Washington  tx  (o.onv.at  bottom  America  in  Tears. 

8.  Print.     The  same  subject  with  the  preceding,  differently  engraved,  and 

the  legends  conic  within  the  oval  line  of  the  print. 
'J.  Print.  Under  a  willow,  a  monument  on  which  "  O.  W.  Sacred  to  the 
memory  of  G.  Washington,  who  emancipated  America  from  slavery," 
etc.  Oval  Portraits  of  Samuel  Adams  and  John  Hancock,  with  let- 
ters S.  A.  and  J.  II.  below  the  monument.  Several  long  legends 
form  part  of  the  print.  On  a  pitcher,  which  also  has  in  front  an 
Eagle  and  Shield,  around  which  the   legend,  "  Peace,  Commerce,  and 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  TOTTERY.       149 

Honest  Friendship  with  all  nations,  entangling  alliances  with  none : 
Jefferson ;"  and  under  this  Anno  Domini  1804. 

10.  Print.      A  portrait  which  does  not  resemble  Washington,  above  which 

a  cherub  holds  a  wreath  enclosing  Washington:  Justice  and  Liberty 
on  either  side.  Victory  in  front  holding  a  palm  branch.  From  the 
wreath  rays  descend  on  the  portrait.  If  there  were  any  likeness  to 
Jefferson  in  the  portrait,  this  might  be  conjectured  to  represent  him 
as  successor  to  the  glory  of  Washington. 

11.  Print.      Entitled  on  a  separate  label  at  bottom  Apotheosis:  represent- 

ing Washington  lifted  from  the  tomb  by  Time,  with  various  accesso- 
ries. I  have  a  description  of  this  print  occurring  without  the  title. 
(See  No.  11.). 

12.  Print.      Map  of  the  United  States.     Washington  and  Liberty  at  left, 

Franklin  at  right.  Two  engravings  of  the  same  design  occur;  one 
is  signed  F.  Morris,  Shelton,  Staffordshire.  A  specimen  of  the  other 
occurs  with  date  1804. 

13.  Print.      Portrait  of  Washington ;  America,  standing,  says,  "  Deafness 

to  the  ear  that  will  patiently  hear,  and  dumbness  to  the  tongue  that 
will  utter  a  calumny  against  the  immortal  Washington:"  Liberty 
says,  "My  favorite  Son."  Below,  "Long  live  the  President  of  the 
United  States."  (This  last  legend  indicates  that  the  specimens  on 
which  it  occurs  were  made  before  the  death  of  Washington.) 

14.  Print.      Landscape,  in  which  are  ships,  a  church,  a  monument  with 

Washington  on  the  pedestal:  legend,  First  in  War,  First  in  Peace, 
First  in  Fame,  First  in  Victory. 

15.  Print.      Washington,  mounted,  on  a  battle-field:    legend,  in  which  he 

is  described  as  Marshal  of  France.  (On  the  same  piece  I  find  the 
fur  cap  portrait  of  Franklin.) 

16.  Print.      Portrait  of  Washington,  over  which  Liberty  holds  a  wreath: 

legend,  Washington  crowned  with  laurels  by  Liberty.  A  chain 
circle,  fifteen  links,  names  of  fifteen  States ;  engraving,  signed  F. 
Morris,  Shelton. 

17.  Print.     Portrait  in  Medallion,  engraved  in  slight  style,  not  resembling 

Washington;  but  over  it  the  legend,  "Deafness  to  the  ear  that 
will  patiently  hear,"  etc.,  as  above,  No.  13.  Engraving  signed  F. 
Morris. 

18.  Print.     The  Apotheosis  print  (No.  11),  without  the  title:  on  the  reverse 


150      AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  POTTERY. 

is  a  large  ship,  and  legend,  Ship  Sally  of  Newbury  Port  Moses 
Wilis  Master  L805.  The  words  of  Jefferson  above  described  on 
No.  9  occur  on  this  as  on  other  specimens,  usually  around  an  eagle. 

19.  Print,      Profile    portrait    of   Washington:    legend,  He   is   in   glory, 

America  in  teaks. 

20.  Relief   Portrait    of   Washington    in    Profile,   gilded,  on    bleu    tie    roi 

ground,  on  a  porcelain  mug,  with  Dresden  mark.  A  relief  Portrait 
of  Franklin  is  on  the  other  side,  .and  in  front  an  American  eagle, 
copied  from  the  half-dollar  silver  coin  of  modern  times. 

Mr.  Whitney  here  suspended  the  reading  of  his  list,  and  re- 
marked that  he  had  "placed  together  most  of  the  Washington 
pieces  for  convenience  of  reference.  On  some  of  the  later  table- 
wares in  blue  and  white  occur  Washington  portraits,  but  they 
scarcely  entitle  the  pieces  to  be  classed  among  those  I  have  thus 
far  catalogued,  on  which  Washington  is  the  prominent  subject  of 
the  decoration. 

"I  have  no  doubt  Ralph  Wood,  or  Enoch  Wood,  of  Burslcm, 
made  a  statuette  of  Washington,  but  I  cannot  find  a  specimen. 
Their  pottery  produced  many  fine  statuettes,  and  Enoch  Wood 
was  a  modeller  before  1784,  when  it  is  probable  he  opened  his 
pottery  works.  Among  the  best  of  the  portrait  figures  attributed 
to  Ralph  and  Enoch  AVood  is  a  statuette  of  Franklin,  fifteen 
inches  high,  of  which  there  seem  to  have  been  two  moulds, 
slightly  different  in  such  particulars  as  the  shape  of  a  button  or 
other  detail,  but  in  general  alike.  On  one  of  these,  statuettes  I 
have  seen  the  name,  painted  in  gold  on  the  pedestal,  General 
Washington.  This  error  could  only  have  occurred  from  the  fact 
that  two  figures,  of  Washington  and  Franklin,  were  made  in  the 
factory,  and  in  tilling  an  order  for  some,  of  them  a  decorator 
put  the  name  of  one  on  the  pedestal  of  the  other.  1  have  seen 
several  specimens  of  the  Franklin,  hut  have  never  net  with  the 
Washington.     It  will  turn  up  some  day." 


20.  The  Plate  Capt.  Eben  "kesked  his  Life  for:"  page  229. 

[Chinese  porcelain  :  decoration  in  brilliant  colors.] 


21.  State  House  at  Hartford,  Conn.  :  page  235. 

[Blue  print  on  tall  and  large  coffee-pot:  Staffordshire  pottery.] 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  POTTERY.      153 

21.  Cameo.    Head  of  Dr.  Franklin :  Wedgwood.    (Same  remark  as  on  No.  1.) 

22.  Intaglio.      Head  of  Dr.  Franklin:    Wedgwood.      (Same  remark  as  on 

Xo.  2.) 

23.  Medallion.     Head  of  Dr.  Franklin :    Wedgwood.     (Same  remark  as  on 

No.  3.) 

24.  Medallion.     Head  of  Governor  Franklin  (of  New  Jersey):   Wedgwood. 

(Same  remark  as  on  Xo.  3.) 

25.  Statuette.     Dr.  Franklin:  Pottery.     Height,  15  inches:  specimens  vary 

in  colors  of  dress.     There  are  apparently  two  moulds  of  this  figure, 

varying  in  slight  details  of  buttons,  button-holes,  etc.     Probably  by 

Ralph  or  Enoch  Wood,  Burslem. 
2G.  Oval.      Porcelain  bisque;   Head  of  Dr.  Franklin:    Bristol.      (Possibly 

two  heads  were  made  by  Champion,  but  only  one  is  now  known.) 
2*7.  Group:  Franklin  and  Louis  XVI.    Porcelain  bisque  marked  Niderviller. 
28.,  Oval.     Pottery  ;  Head  of  Dr.  Franklin  :  Xecde  &  Co.,  Hanley. 

29.  Print.     Fur  cap  portrait  of  Dr.  Franklin  with  glasses.     Legend,  Ben- 

jamin Franklin  born,  etc.  On  a  pitcher;  on  the  other  side,  legend, 
Benfn  Franklin  Esq.  L.L.D.  and  F.R.S.  the  brave  defender  of  the 
country  against  the  oppression  of  taxation  without  representation — au- 
thor of  the  greatest  discovery  in  Natural  Philosophy  since  those  of  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  viz.,  that  Lightening  is  the  same  with  the  electric  fire. 

30.  Pitcher  —  Print.     On  one  side  The  American  Eagle  with  E  Pluribus 

Unum  ;  on  the  other  side  these  stanzas: 

"  Sound,  Sound  the  trump  of  Fame 
Let  Jefferson's  great  name 
Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause, 
As  the  firm  friend  of  Freedom's  cause. 

"  Let  every  clime  to  freedom  dear 
Xow  listen  with  a  joyful!  ear 
With  honest  pride  and  manly  grace 
He  fills  the  Presidential  place. 

"  The  Constitution  for  his  guide 
And  Truth  and  Justice  by  his  side, 
When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay 
When  gloom  obscured  Columbia's  day 
He  mour'd  his  country's  threaten'd  fate 
And  sav'd  it  ere  it  was  too  late." 


1 54      AMEER :  I X  JUSTOli  Y  ILL  USTRA  TED  IN  FOTTER  Y. 

31.  Mug.      Portrait  in  black  print;  on  a  ribbon,  The  Honourable  John 

Hancock.  (Sec  Illustration  5.)  This  is  probably  an  early  piece  of 
Liverpool  ware. 

32.  Pitcher.     On  one  side  a  ship  with  American  flag.     In  front,  American 

Eagle  over  the  words  Herculaneum  Pottery  Liverpool.  On  the 
other  side,  a  sailor's  ballad  surrounded  by  a  wreath  of  flowers,  to 
which  is  appended  the  engraver's  signature,  Jok  Johnson,  Liverpool. 
This  pitcher  is  one  of  many  having  this  ship  print,  and  is  important 
as  it  has  both  the  pottery  mark  and  an  engraver's. 

33.  Print.     Map  between  two  female  figures.     Legend,  Plan  of  City  of 

Washington.  This  is  found  on  a  pitcher  bearing  the  Washington 
print,  with  legends,  Washington  in  Glory,  America  in  Tears. 

34.  Pitcher.     Legend,  An  Emblem  of  America  over  a  coarse  print  repre- 

senting a  female  figure  holding  the  American  flag,  facing  two  short, 
fat  Indians:  behind  her  a  group  of  oval  portraits  labelled  Raleigh, 
Columbus,  Franklin,  Washington,  etc.  This  also  occurs  on  a  Wash- 
ington pitcher,  with  the  print  of  a  monument,  and  the  legend,  "  Wash- 
ington in  Glory,"  etc.,  but  differing  from  the  same  subject  in  last 
number. 

35.  Pitcher.     Legend,  Success  to  the  crooked  town  of  Boston.     No  print. 

On  the  other  side  a  ballad. 

36.  Pitcher.      Masonic  Emblems  and  verses.      The  American   Eagle   and 

Shield  on  front.  Masonic  prints  in  several  varieties  appear  on  such 
specimens. 

37.  Pitcher.     Two  prints,  one  of  Timber-cutting,  the  other  of  Ship-building, 

one  above  the  other  with  verses  between.  Other  verses  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  pitcher,  or  in  some  cases  an  eagle;  Herccxaneum 
PoTTEin  Liverpool,  on  front.  This  print  is  found  on  Washington 
pitchers. 

38.  Pitcher — Print.     Battle  Scene:  Death  of  Montgomery. 

39.  Pitcher — Print,     Battle  Scene  :  Death  of  Warren. 

lo.  Pitcher — Print.     Liberty  seated  ;  legend,  May  Columbia  Flourish. 

41.  Pitcher — Print,     A  Schooner.     Legend,  Commerce  *  *  and  Peace,  All 

Nations'  Joys  [NCREASE. 
12.   Plate — Print,     A  Ship  with  American  flag:   found   sometimes  colored 

over  the  print.     This  print  also  occurs  on  pitchers,  and  various  other 

prints  of  ships  with  American  flags. 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IX  POTTERY.       155 

43.  Pitcher.     On  one  side  a  print,  The  Farmer's  Arms,  with  legend,  In  God 

we  Trust  :  on  the  other  side  the  legend,  For  America. 

44.  Pitcher.     On  one  side  a  sort  of  shield,  with  two  female  figures  as  sup- 

porters. New  York  prominent  at  top  of  shield :  names  of  other 
States,  including  Boston,  on  ribbon.  Legend,  Peace  Plenty  and 
Independence.  On  the  other  side  shield,  supported  by  an  Eagle 
and  an  Indian.  Legend,  Success  to  the  United  States  of  America, 
E  Pluribus  Unum.  In  front,  Peace  and  Prosperity  to  America. 
This  appears  to  be  an  early  specimen:  printed  in  red  and  decorated 
with  pink  lustre ;  probably  from  a  Shelton  pottery. 

45.  Pitcher.     The  same  print  on  each  side,  viz.,  names  of  eleven  States  on 

ribbons  around  stars,  the  whole  encircling  the  words  Peace  Plenty 
and  Independence:  among  the  eleven  States  are Bostoji  and  Tenassee. 
This  forms  a  sort  of  shield,  supported  by  a  standing  female  figure  on 
left,  and  seated  female  figure  on  right,  each  with  a  cornucopia  :  above, 
an  eagle  and  flag.  On  the  front  of  the  pitcher,  Peace  and  Pkosper- 
ity  to  America. 

46.  Pitcher.     Black  print,  names  of  eleven  States,  including  Boston,  around 

the  words  Peace  Plenty  and  Independence  :  apparently  an  extract 
from  the  above  print ;  but,  as  this  description  is  communicated  to  me, 
I  cannot  affirm  it. 

47.  Print:  in  which  a  U.  S.  soldier  is  standing  with  his  foot  on  the  head 

of  the  British  Lion.  Legend,  By  virtue  and  valor  we  have  freed  our 
country,  extended  our  commerce,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  a  great 
empire. 

"After  the  last  war  with  England,"  said  Mr.  Whitney,  "  which 
we  sometimes  call  the  War  of  1812,  the  English  manufacture  of 
potteries  having  American  decorations  increased  rapidly.  The 
events  of  that  war  were  not  infrequently  used  for  illustration. 
Sometimes  pieces  were  made  in  obedience  to  American  orders, 
and  in  other  cases  enterprising  potters  designed  them  for  Ameri- 
can sale.  The  latter  was  undoubtedly  the  case  with  the  Castle- 
ford  teapots  and  other  tea  wares,  on  which  it  is  very  common  to 
see  embossed  figures  of  Liberty,  or  the  Head  of  Liberty/with  a  tur- 
ban, copied  from  the  United  States  gold  coins  of  the  last  century. 


150      AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  POTTERY. 

These  Castleford  wares,  both  pottery  and  porcelain,  are  often 
very  beautiful  in  shape,  and  charmingly  ornamented  with  raised 
lines  in  patterns,  sometimes  colored  blue.  Other  potters  copied 
the  patterns,  and  New  England  country  houses  formerly  abound- 
ed in  beautiful  specimens  of  these  fabrics.  Collectors  of  Sevres 
and  Dresden  affect  to  despise  them ;  but  beauty  of  form  is  never 
to  be  despised,  and  many  an  old  English  pottery  teapot  is  as  beau- 
tiful an  object  as  Sevres  or  Dresden  ever  produced.  Tastes  differ, 
however,  and  it  is  well  they  do. 

'"The  heroes  of  the  American  navy,  and  their  battles,  formed 
frequent  decorations  of  the  printed  potteries.  Peiiiaps  this  in- 
dicates that  sailors  ordered  these  wares  in  English  ports.  It 
seems  odd  that  English  potters  should  have  used  so  extensively, 
for  trade  purposes,  the  victories  of  their  late  enemies,  and  espe- 
cially that  on  many  pieces  they  should  have  placed  legends  in- 
sulting to  their  own  pride.  It  is  one  of  the  curious  illustrations 
of  what  the  desire  to  make  money  will  lead  men  to  do.  For 
many  of  these  decorations  occur  on  pieces  evidently  made  for 
the  general  market,  and  not  for  special  orders." 

48.  Plate.      Portrait  of  Perry:   over  it,  Perry.      Impressed  mark  of  Dav- 

enport,  Longport. 

49.  Pitcher.      Same  portrail  of  Perry  on  one  side:   on  the  other  side,  por- 

trait of  Jackson:  under  it,  Major  Genl.  Andrew  Jackson,  j  have 
heard  of  a  pitcher  with  a  portrait  of  Perry,  and  a  naval  battle  on 
the  other  side,  but  have  no  description  of  it. 

50.  Mug.      Portrait  of  Perry:   over  it,  0.  H.  Perry,  Esq.      Legend,  on  a 

ribbon,  We  have  met  the  enemy,  and  they  are  ours:  under  this, 
Hero  of  the  Lake. 

51.  Mug.      Portrait.      Over    it,  Commodore    Decatur:    below,  on    ribbon, 

Free  trade,  sailors'  rights. 

52.  Pitcher.      ('ream-ware,  with  copper  lustre:  on  one  side  portrait,  Deca- 

tor:  on  the  other,  portrait  of  Lawrence.     Legend,  Don't  surrender 

THE  SHIP, 


AMERICAN  HIST  OR  Y  ILL  USTRA  TED  IN  PO  TTEIl  Y.       157 

53.  Mug.     Portrait,  Commodore    Bainbridge.      Legend,  Avast  Boys,  she's 

struck. 

54.  Pitcher.     On  one  side  portrait,  Captain  Jones  of  the  Macedonian  :  on 

the  other  side  portrait,  Captain  Hull  of  the  Constitution. 

55.  Pitcher.     On  one  side  portrait,  Captain  Jones  of  the  Macedonian.     On 

the  other  side  portrait  of  General  Z.  M.  Pike:  above  it,  Pike;  be- 
low, the  legend,  Be  always  ready  to  die  for  your  country. 

56.  Pitcher.     On  one  side  portrait  of  Pike,  and  legend  as  on  the  last  de- 

scribed ;  on  the  other  side  portrait,  and  legend,  Captain  Hull  of  the 
Constitution. 

57.  Pitcher.     On  one  side  portrait,  signed  D.     Legend,  Commodore  Preble. 

On  the  other  side  oval  print  of  ships  engaging  fortifications.  Legend 
above,  Commodore  Preble's  Squadron  attacking  the  City  of  Trip- 
oli, Aug.  3,  1804;  legend  below,  a  long  account  of  the  engagement. 
On  the  front,  American  eagle,  and  legend,  Herculaneum  Pottery 
Liverpool. 

58.  Pitcher.      Two  prints  of  naval  battles.      On  one  side,  the  Wasp  and 

Reindeer  :  on  the  other,  the  Wasp  boarding  the  Frolic.  Each 
print  is  signed  Bentlcij  Wear  t£'  Bourne  Engravers  &  printers  Sheltou 
Staffordshire. 

59.  Pitcher.      On  one  side,  view  of  the  bombardment  of  Stonington,  en- 

titled "The  gallant  defence  of  Stonington  August  9  is  14.  On 
the  other  side,  a  ship ;  legend,  United  States  Frigate  Guerriere 
Com.  Macdonough,  bound  to  Russia  July  1818. 

60.  Pitcher.     A  view  near  Gloucester,  Mass.     (I  have  mislaid  an  accurate 

note  of  this  specimen,  which  was  a  very  large  sized  cream- ware 
pitcher.) 

61.  Medallion  containing  embossed  head  of  Liberty,  being  the  peculiar  head 

first  used  on  the  IT.  S.  gold  coins  of  1795.  This  appears  mi  teapots 
probably  made  at  Castleford. 

62.  Medallion   containing   embossed   figure   of  Liberty,  seated :    not   nec- 

essarily American,  but  on  pieces  probably  made  for  this  market. 
Used  at  Castleford,  and  perhaps  elsewhere. 

63.  Medallion  containing  embossed  American  Eagle  and  Shield ;    the  re- 

verse die  adopted  on  American  gold  in  1797.  This  is  found  as  an 
ornament  on  the  same  pieces  with  No.  61. 

64.  Tea-service,  pottery,  like  cream-ware,  but  apparently  a  different  paste, 


158      AMERICAN  II  1ST  Oil  Y  ILLUSTRATED  IX  POTTERY. 

decorated  with  prints  in  red.  On  the  teapot,  on  one  side  a  steam- 
ship or  boat  at  sea,  in  the  distance  a  mountainous  land,  with  a  fort. 
The  steamer  lias  one  mast  with  American  flag,  and  a  smoke-stack 
neatly  as  high  as  the  mast.  On  the  other  side  a  captured  British 
ship,  flying  American  flags  over  the  British,  approaching  a  rocky 
shore  on  which  an  anchor  lies,  and  an  American  eagle  stands  hold- 
ing a  laurel  branch  which  extends  among  stars  over  the  entire  print. 
The  same  prints  appear  on  the  teacup.  On  the  saucer  is  a  similar 
print,  in  which  the  steamer  is  coming  out  to  meet  the  ship.  (See  Il- 
lustration 11.)  The  work  resembles  known  prints  by  F.  Mortis  at 
Shelton.  This  decoration  may  refer  to  some  event  in  the  Bay  of 
New  York  when  a  captured  ship  arrived,  or  it  may  have  relation  to 
Fulton's  war-ship. 

Mr.  Whitney  here  laid  down  his  list  from  which  he  had  been 
reading,  and  remarked  that  "in  1814  Robert  Fulton  was  author- 
ized by  the  U.  S.  Government  to  build  a  steamship  of  war.  She 
was  launched,  and  named  Fulton  the  First.  Can  it  be  that  this 
intermingling  of  a  captured  British  vessel,  the  American  eagle 
triumphant  on  the  rocks,  and  an  odd-looking  steamship,  have  any 
allusion  to  this  first  American  war  -  steamer  ?  And  did  Enoch 
Wood  possibly  allude  to  the  same  idea  on  wares  made  later  than 
this,  but  to  which  T  shall  come  hereafter? 

"  Before  proceeding  with  my  list,  lei  me  say  that  between  1815 
and  1830  it  is  evident  that  English  potters  had  established  toler- 
ably regular  commercial  relations  with  American  merchants.  In 
some  eases  the  wares  were  marked  with  the  names  of  the  Ameri- 
can dealers.  I  hud  'J.  Greenfield,  China,  etc.,  New  York,1  and 
'Peter  Morton,  importer,  Connecticut,'  on  the  backs  of  dinner- 
plates  which  date  perhaps  about  1825-30. 

"Some  English  potters  united  the  American  Eagle  and  Shield 
with  their  trade-mark.  Enoch  Wood  A-  Suns  used  a  circular  im- 
pressed mark  with  the  eagle  in  the  centre.  Rogers,  of  Longport, 
often  stamped  the  eagle  alone  in  blue,  having  his  name  impressed. 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  PUTTER Y.       159 

or  sometimes  omitted  entirely.  Clews,  of  Cobridge,  and  others 
printed  on  the  bottoms  of  articles  the  names  of  the  prints  which 
decorated  them,  the  name  appearing  in  a  scroll  or  frame  held  by 
the  American  eagle. 

"American  dealers  probably  sent  out  prints  of  American  scen- 
ery and  events  to  be  used.  In  some  cases,  perhaps,  customers, 
such  as  steamboat  companies  on  the  Hudson  River,  hotel  pro- 
prietors, and  others,  ordered  or  furnished  drawings  for  prints. 
Series  of  American  subjects  were  published  by  English  potters, 
such  as  the  Ridgways'  "  Beauties  of  America." 

"After  1815,  we  find  a  good  many  American  subjects  on  table 
and  other  wares.  I  have  included  in  my  list  such  of  these  as 
have  come  under  my  notice.  Where  not  otherwise  noted,  these 
designs  occur  in  dark-blue  prints,  mostly  on  table  wares.  Some 
of  them  are  superb  in  color,  and  although  once  cheap  crockery, 
they  are  now  valuable  specimens,  whose  worth  consists  in  their 
great  beauty  of  color  as  well  as  in  their  historical  associations. 
I  proceed  with  the  list,  generally  naming  only  the  prints,  as  they 
occur  on  a  great  variety  of  pieces  in  services. 

65.  Landscape :    seaport  in  distance  :    a  man  in  knee  breeches  and  wig 

(Washington?)  stands  by  an  urn  on  which  is  Washington:  he  holds 
a  scroll  in  his  hand  :  trees,  foliage,  etc.,  cover  the  piece.  This  might 
be  classed  among  Washington  prints.  I  find  it  in  dark-blue  on  vari- 
ous pieces  of  a  breakfast  service. 

66.  Washington  Church,  Philadelphia. 

67.  Harvard  College. 

68.  Monte  Video.    (Now  known  as  Wadsworth  Tower,  near  Hartford,  Conn.) 

69.  The  State-house  at  Hartford,  Conn. 

70.  Fairmount  Water-works,  Philadelphia. 
VI.  The  Dam  and  Water-works,  Philadelphia. 

72.  Water-works,  Philadelphia.  (This  is  a  view  of  a  house  with  dome,  like 
an  observatory,  among  trees.  An  old  Pennsylvania  covered  wagon 
in  the  foreground.)     Marked  R.  S.  W. 


160      AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IX  POTTERY. 

73.  Upper  Ferry  Bridge  over  the  Schuylkill. 

74.  Race  Street  Bridge,  Philadelphia. 

75.  View  at  Hoboken,  New  Jersey.     (The  old  Stevens  mansion.) 

76.  View  of  Passaic  Falls,  New  Jersey. 

77.  Print  covering  dinner-plate,  and  found  on  larger  pieces.     In  centre  the 

White  House,  with  deer  in  front,  is  on  a  sort  of  shield  supported  by 
Liberty  kneeling  on  right,  Justice  standing  on  left :  Justice  holds  an 
oval  portrait  of  Washington.  Fruits  and  flowers  above  and  below. 
Around  all,  names  of  fifteen  States  on  connected  arches  with  stars. 
( >n  pedestals  of  the  supporters,  America  and  Independence.  Tureens 
and  covered  dishes  with  this  decoration  have  the  American  eagle  for 
the  knob  on  the  cover.     Mark  of  Clews,  Cobridge. 

78.  Print;    a    side-wheel    steamship,  bark    rigged,  under  full   sail  at  sea; 

American  flag:  dark-blue  print  on  saucer,  and  same  print,  smaller 
size,  on  cup  ;  impressed  circular  mark  of  E.  Wood  &  Sons,  semi-china, 
Burslem.  What  steamer  can  this  be?  The  pottery  is  much  older 
than  1838,  when  the  Sirius  and  Great  Western  (British  steamers)  be- 
gan the  Atlantic  ferry.  Can  it  be  the  American  steamship  Savannah, 
which,  in  1819,  made  the  first  steamer  voyage  ever  made  across  the 
Atlantic,  reaching  Liverpool  about  July,  and  proceeding  to  St.  Peters- 
burg, whence  she  returned  to  America  in  1820?  If  so,  this  is  a  very 
interesting  ceramic  and  historic  relic.  The  mark,  E.Wood  &  Sons, 
does  not  date  earlier  than  1818,  and  probably  not  earlier  than  1819 
or  1820.  Wood  &  Caldwell  was  the  firm  name  till  1818,  when  Cald- 
well retired,  and  Enoch  Wood  took  his  sons  into  partnership  some 
time  after  that. 

79.  Table  Rock,  Niagara.     E.  Wood  &  Sons. 

80.  City  of  Albany,  State  of  New  York.      /•-'.  Wood  &  Sons. 

81.  Steamboat  on  the  Hudson  River  taking  passengers   from  the    shore 

with  small  boat.  On  wheel-house,  Chief  Jpstice  Marshall,  Troy  : 
on  flag,  Troy  Line:  on  other  Hags  illegible  words.  Marked  A".  Wood 
<(■  Sons. 

82.  Steamboat,  on  the  Hudson.      Precise  copy  of  last  number,  except  thai 

the  name  on  the  wheel-house  is  Union  Line:  on  one  flag  the  same: 
on  other  flags  nothing.     K.  Wood  dt  Sons. 

83.  Naval    battle   on  Lake  Champlain.      On  rock  in   foreground,  Commo- 

dore  Macdonnough's   victory.     Impressed  mark,  Wood.     Possibly 


AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  FOTTJSRY.       161 

this  mark  dates  about  1818,  when  Enoch  Wood  was  alone,  having 
bought  out  his  former  partner,  Caldwell,  and  not  yet  taken  his  sons 
into  partnership. 

84.  Gilpin's  Mills  on  Brandywine  Creek.     Marked  E.  Wood  &  Sons. 

86.  i  >ctagon  Church,  Boston.     Marked  ./  &  W.  Ridgway. 

86.  City  Hall,  New  York.     Marked  J.  &  W.  Ridgway. 

87.  State  House,  Boston.      This  is  the  same  picture  with  the  last,  with  a 

different  name  on  the  back  of  the  plate.  It  is  really  the  New  York 
City  Hall.     Marked  J.  &  W.  Ridgway. 

88.  The  Capitol  at  Washington.     J'.  &  W.  Ridgway. 

89.  Exchange  at  Charleston.     ./.  &  W.  Ridgway. 

90.  Bank  at  Savannah.     J.  &  W.  link/way. 

91.  Insane  Hospital,  Boston.     J.  &  W.  Ridgway. 

92.  Landscape  view,  Mount  Vernon  nr  Washington.     J.  &  W.  Ridgway. 

93.  Pennsylvania  Hospital.     Marked  J.  A  W.  Ridgway. 

94.  Landing  of  Lafayette  at  Castle  Garden,  in  1824 :   view  of  the  Battery, 

Castle  Garden,  steamers,  etc. :  this  is  on  pitchers,  and  various  pieces 
of  breakfast,  dinner,  and  tea  services.  Marked,  Clews  Warranted 
Staffordshire. 

95.  Pitcher.      Medallion  with  head  of  Lafayette :  legend  above,  in  the  me- 

dallion, Welcome  Lafayette,  the  Nation's  Guest  :  the  same  print 
repeated  on  opposite  side  of  the  pitcher :  in  front  another  portrait  of 
Lafayette  in  vignette,  with  legend  above,  "  General  La  Fayette  wel- 
come to  the  land  of  liberty,"  and  below,  "  He  was  born  at  Auvergne 
in  France,  1757,  joined  the  American  struggle  in  1777,  and  in  1824 
returned  to  repose  in  the  bosom  of  the  land  whose  liberty  he  in  part 
gave  birth  to."  On  the  sides  around  the  medallion  heads  a  long  bio- 
graphical legend  in  five  lines,  the  same  on  each  side.     No  mark. 

96.  Plate.      Medallion  head  of  Lafayette.     Around  it,  "Welcome  Lafayette 

the  nation's  gu<  it  and  our  country's  glory."  (This  has  been  communi 
cated  to  me.) 

97.  Print.      Views  of  the  Erie  Canal.      This  title,  communicated  to  me 

as  occurring  on  the  back  of  a  blue  printed  plate,  indicates  a  series. 
The  Erie  Canal  was  finished  and  opened  in  1825  with  imposing  cere- 
monies ;  about  this  time  many  prints  relating  to  it  appeared  on  Eng- 
lish pottery. 

98.  Plate — Prints.      In  centre,  a  church,  buildings,  etc. :    on  border,  por- 

11 


162      AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  POTTERY. 

traits  and  an  aqueduct,  with  legends,  Jefferson,  President  Washington, 
Welcome  Lafayettt    tht    Nation's  guest,  General  Clinton,   View  of  the 

aqueduct  hridy<  at  Little  Falls. 
99.  Pitcher — Prints.  A  canal  lock  and  aqueduct;  American  eagle;  flow- 
ers, wreaths,  etc.:  legend,  Utica,  a  village  in  the  State  of  New  York, 
thirty  years  since  a  wildt  mess,  now  (1824)  inft  rior  to  none  in  the  west- 
ern section  of  the  Stale  in  population,  wadth,  commercial  enterprise, 
activt  industry,  and  civil  improvement.  Another  legend,  The  Grand 
Erie  Caned,  etc.  (as  on  No.  101  below). 

100.  Pitcher.     Prints  in  black.     Albany  Theatre,  1824:  A  Head  of  Wash 

ington :  View  of  the  aqueduct  bridge  at  Little  Falls  (a  large  print). 

101.  Print.     Legend,  The  Grand  Erie  Caned,  a  splendid  monument  of  tht  en- 

terprise and  resources  of  the  State  of  New  York.  Indebted  for  its  early 
commencement  and  rapid  completion  to  the  active  energies,  pre-eminent 
taicnts,  ami  i idiijldened  policy  of  De  Witt  Clinton,  Governor  of  the 
State.     Border  of  plate  with  this  legend  has  canal,  boats,  etc. 

102.  Entrance  of  the  Erie  Canal  into  the  Hudson  at  Albany.     Clews. 

103.  The  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railroad.     This,  I  am  informed,  was  one  of 

the  first  railways,  if  not  the  very  first,  constructed  in  America.  (See 
111.  12.) 

104.  Pittsfield,  Mass.     Winter  view:  marked  Clews.     In  a  newspaper  para- 

graph which  I  cut  from  a  journal  in  1804,  it  was  stated  that  there 
was  a  famous  old  elm-tree  at  Pittsfield,  the  trunk  of  which,  when  it 
fell,  was  sawed  up  and  made  into  bowls,  canes,  and  other  relics ;  also 
that  about  1825,  Mr.  Allen,  a  merchant  of  Pittsfield,  "  had  a  view  of 
the  Elm  and  Park,  as  they  then  appeared,  taken  and  sent  to  England, 
where  it  was  reproduced  on  blue  crockery-ware,  several  specimens  of 
which  are  still  in  the  possession  of  the  old  families  of  Berkshire,  and 
highly  prized."     (See  111.  4.) 

105.  Park  Theatre,  New  York.       This  view  includes  the  lower  end  of  the 

Park,  with  its  ancient  brick  posts.  In  the  distance  is  the  spire  of 
the  Old  Brick  Church.  It  is  on  a  dinner-plate.  No  maker's  mark  is 
on  it,  but  the  border  pattern  is  identical  with  the  specimen,  No.  100. 

106.  City  Hotel,  New  York.      View  looking  down    Broadway,  and   including 

old  Trinity  Church.  A  man  is  sawing  a  load  of  wood  with  an  old- 
fashioned  buck  in  the  middle  of  Broadway  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
No  mark,  but  border  pattern  the  same  with  the  preceding  specimens. 


AMEBIC  AN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IN  TOTTERY.       163 

107.  Marine  Hospital,  Louisville,  Ken  tuck)-.     Marked  E.  Wood  &  Sons. 

108.  Hospital,  Boston.     A  one -horse  "shay"  in  the  foreground.     Marked 

Stevenson,  impressed. 

109.  Arms  of  Rhode  Island  :  on  a  plate,  dinner  size. 

110.  Arms  of  South  Carolina.     It  is  said  by  the  owner  of  a  plate  with  this 

decoration  that  this  is  the  last  remaining  of  a  set  of  thirteen  differ- 
ent plates,  each  one  having  the  arms  of  one  of  the  original  thirteen 
States.  Perhaps  services  were  made  in  this  way,  and  the  plate,  din- 
ner size,  with  arms  of  Rhode  Island  above  named,  may  belong  to 
such  a  service. 

111.  Tomb  of  Dr.  Franklin. 

112.  View  of  New  York  City.     On  the  back  the  title,  on  a  tablet  held  by 

an  eagle,  is  "New  York  from  Wee  hawk,  by  W.  C.  Wall,  Esq." 
Marked  A.  Stevenson  Warranted  Staffordshire,  in  a  circle  impressed. 

113.  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims.     On  a  rock  names,  Carver,  Bradford,  Wins- 

low,  Brewster,  Standish  :  on  the  borders  of  a  plate  with  this  design 
are  four  medallions  enclosing  prints.  One  of  these  is  a  reduced 
copy  of  the  side-wheel  steamer  illustrated  (111.  No.  64) ;  another  has 
two  ships,  with  names  Enterprise  and  Boxer  (?).  Marked  Enoch 
Wood  db  So?is,  Bur&lem,  in  blue  print  on  a  scroll.  This  print  is  in 
a  lighter  shade  of  blue,  and  the  work  is  late. 

114.  Views  on  the  Hudson  River.     These  are  various  views  on  dinner  and 

other  services,  printed  in  brown.  Specimens  are  marked  Clews  ;  but 
others,  unmarked,  may  be  by  other  makers. 


"These  Hudson  River  views  are  probably  as  late  as  1830,  or 
even  1835,  and  here  the  list  may  be  suspended.  Scenes  in  the 
Texas  war  with  Mexico ;  extracts  from  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States;  ruins  of  New  York  fire  in  1835,  with  Phoenix 
tire-engine,  etc. — many  other  designs  are  found  on  the  more  mod- 
ern wares.  The  '  darkly,  deeply,  beautifully  blue '  Staffordshire 
and  Liverpool  wares  gave  place  about  1830  to  prints  in  brown, 
pale  blue,  pink,  mauve,  and  a  variety  of  shades  of  color,  which 
sufficiently  mark  the  more  recent  character  of  pieces." 

At  the  close  of  the  session  a  lady,  who  had  not  spoken  during 


164       AMERICAN  HISTORY  ILLUSTRATED  IX  POTTERY. 

the  discussion,  produced  a  plate  which  she  unwrapped  from  a 
[taper  with  some  hesitation. 

"  L  thought,  perhaps — I  didn't  know — I  wasn't  sure — it's  not 
very  old — but  I  knew  you  were  going  to  talk  about  American 
subjects,  and  I  suppose  it's  an  American  subject — that  is,  it's — 
well  you  can  see  what  it  is." 

She  exhibited  a  heavy  white  stone-ware  plate,  with  a  blue  line 
around  the  rim.  In  the  centre  was  a  device  printed  in  a  gray 
tint,  two  cannon  crossed,  an  anchor  in  front  of  them,  the  letters 
< !.  S.  N.  below.  This  device  was  enclosed  in  a  circle  made  by  a 
cable,  around  which  was  a  wreath  of  leaves  and  flowers.  Under 
all  were  the  words  aide  toi  et  dieu  t'  aidera. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Whitney,  glancing  with  some  con- 
tempt at  the  very  modern  looking  and  far  from  beautiful  specimen. 

"  I  borrowed  it  of  Mrs.  Townsend.  She  said  she  found  two  or 
three  in  a  shop  down  South  last  winter.  The  shopkeeper  said 
they  belonged  to  a  blockade  runner  in  the  time  of  the  Civil  War. 
But  Mrs.  Townsend  says  that  when  she  took  them  to  the  hotel 
she  was  showing  one  of  them  to  a  lady,  when  a  friend  of  hers, 
who  had  been  an  officer  on  the  Alabama,  saw  it  and  exclaimed, 
'  Where  did  you  get  that  piece  of  our  old  crockery?'  '  Whose  old 
crockery  V  said  Mrs.  Townsend.  'Our  old  crockery  on  the  Ala- 
bama. That  is  a  piece  of  the  service  made  for  us  in  England. 
That  line,  aide  toi  et  dieu  t'  aidera,  Avas  the  Alabama's  motto, 
and  was  painted  on  the  wheel-house  of  the  ship.  There  were 
three  kinds — all  the  same  design,  but  a  different  color  on  each 
set,  and  this  was  one  of  the  officers'  service.'  When  Mrs.  Town- 
send  told  me  that,  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  a  plate  relating  to 
America,  and  so  I  brought  it." 

"Relate  to  America?  T  should  think  it  does!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Whitney:  "thus,,  plates  are  probably  the  only  ceramic  relics  of 
the  Confederate  States  of  America." 


22.  The  Fairy's  Cradle  Mollte  found:  page  234. 

[Old  English  pottery  :  brilliant  green  glaze  :  relief  ornaments.] 


23.  The  Rummiest  Old  Fellow:  page  237. 

[Pottery  :  Toby  :  colors  from  life :  probably  by  Enoch  Wood,  Burslem.] 


IX. 

AUNT  GHARRY'S  BOARDER. 

I  spent  a  summer  in  the  little  village  of  Bray  ton,  said  Miss 
Forsythe.  It  was  my  mother's  native  place,  and  for  that  reason 
dear  to  all  her  children,  who,  year  after  year,  sought  its  quiet 
shade,  and  found  rest  and  refreshment  there.  I  knew  all  the 
people  for  miles  around,  and  was  dear  to  many  of  their  honest, 
kindly  hearts,  because  I  was  "Lyddy  Burton's  darter,"  and  a  lin- 
eal descendant  of  "  old  Major  Johnny." 

Sitting  one  July  afternoon  in  my  favorite  seat  under  the  old 
"  Perkins  elm,"  I  heard  the  rattle  of  wheels,  and,  looking  up,  saw 
Aunt  Charity  Burdick  jogging  down  the  road  with  her  old  gray 
mare,  Dolly.  Now  "Aunt  Gharry,"  as  she  was  called  by  all  the 
villagers,  was  a  very  good  friend  of  mine.  She  had  known  my 
mother  when  a  "  gal,"  and  could  tell  many  a  tale  of  the  doings 
and  sayings  of  my  grandfather,  "  Major  Johnny  Burton,"  whom, 
according  to  her,  I  "favored"  remarkably.  She  was  a  fat,  com- 
fortable old  soul,  taking  life  easily  herself,  and  certainly  making 
it  a  less  dreary  road  for  those  around  her.  As  she  saw  me  she 
gently  communicated  to  Dolly  her  desire  to  stop,  and  I  went  to 
meet  her.  A  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  a  pat  on  the  shoulder, 
the  expressed  opinion  that  I  was  "  the  old  major  over  agin,  only 
not  so  hard-featur'd  nor  dark-complected ;"  and  then  I  asked, 
"  Have  the  summer  boarders  come,  Aunt  Gharry  ?" 

"  One  on  'em  has." 


L68  AUNT  CHABBT'S  BOARDER. 

The  answer  was  brief,  and  delivered  in  a  tone  which,  somehow 
gave  me  the  impression  that  there  was  more  to  say  about  this 
one  boarder. 

"And  who  is  it?"  I  ashed. 

"His  name,"  said  the  old  lady,  dwelling  upon  the  word  as  though 
to  express  the  idea  that  there  were  other  and  more  important 
facts  than  concerned  his  cognomen — "  his  name  is  Chester — Mis- 
ter Winthrup  Quincy  Chester — an'  he  come  from  Bostin." 

''Do  you  like  him,  Aunt  Charry?  Is  he  pleasant?  Does  he 
give  you  much  trouble  ?" 

The  old  lady  was  silent  a  minute,  though  her  compressed  lips, 
her  half-closed  eyes,  and  meaning  smile  all  hinted  at  some  dark 
mystery.  Then,  leaning  toward  me,  she  said,  in  a  low,  impressive 
voice, 

"  He's  a  loonytic  !" 

"Why,  aunty,"  I  exclaimed,  "you  are  not  in  earnest?  How 
could  you  take  an  insane  person  for  boarder?" 

"I  never  knowed  it,  not  till  he  come.  He  looks  like  a  real 
gentleman,  an'  he  fetched  a  letter  from  Miss  Jedge  Gavd'ner,  who 
put  up  to  Square  Miner's  las'  summer;  an'  I  wanted  some  board- 
ers bad,  for  it's  hard  times,  so  I  took  this  man.  An'  now  this  is 
how  it's  turned  out !" 

"But  how,  Aunt  Charry?  When  was  he  taken?  How  does 
he  act?  Please  tell  me  all  about  it,"  I  cried,  full  of  eager  curios- 
ity about  this  deranged  Bostonian  with  the  high-toned  name. 

"  Well,  jest  put  on  your  bunnet,  deary,  an'  ride  down  to  the 
house  with  me.     I'll  send  ye  home  safe  an'  soun'  bimeby." 

Mv  "bunnet"  was  soon  donned, and  1  seated  by  the  dear  old 
woman,  behind  the  deliberate  but  persevering  Dolly,  listening  to 
a  strange  and  thrilling  history. 

"  Well,  ye  see,  it's  a  pooty  good  stiffikit  for  Miss  Jedge  Gard 
'ner  to  speak  well  of  a  body;  an'  then,  when  the  man  come,  he 


AUNT  GHARRY'S  BOARDER.  169 

was  pleasant-spoken,  an'  looked  real  well  to  do,  an'  I  never  con- 
ceited there  was  anythin'  wrong.  He  come  in  the  stage  from 
Rockville,  an'  got  here  nigh  on  to  five  o'clock.  I  showed  him 
up  to  his  room  myself.  I'd  fixed  it  up  real  tasty,  with  Granmer 
Fish's  '  risin'  sun '  bed-quilt  on  the  bed  an'  span-clean  diinity- 
curt'ins,  an',  thinks  I,  it's  good  enough  for  anybody,  let  alone  who 
he  is.  But  Mister  Chester  he  never  said  nary  a  word  about  it, 
an'  so  says  I,  'Tea  '11  be  ready  at  six  o'clock,'  I  says,  an'  I  come 
away.  Well,  I  went  inter  the  kitchin  to  see  to  the  socly  biskits 
an'  slice  the  ham,  an'  when  I  come  back  inter  the  settin'-room, 
there  was  that  man  a-stannin'  by  the  tea-table,  an'  spyin'  an'  peek- 
in'  inter  the  vittles.  There  was  a  bowlful  o'  pie-plant,  done  up  in 
brown  sugar  stid  o'  merlasses,  for  cump  ny ;  an'  when  I  come  in 
the  door,  if  that  Bostin  feller  warnt  holdin'  it  up  to  his  nose  an' 
kinder  sniffin'  at  it.  He  put  it  down  quicker  'n  you  could  say 
Jack  Rob'nson,  but  I  see  him,  an'  it  riled  me.  But,  sudsy  me ! 
that  was  nothin'  to  what  come  arterwards.  He  wouldn't  eat 
nothin'  till  he'd  poked  his  nose  inter  his  plate  an'  turned  it  over 
to  see  if  'twas  clean  enough  on  the  bottom  as  well  as  top  for  Mis- 
ter Winthrup  Quincy  Chester  to  eat  off  on.  He  smelt  o'  the 
butter,  he  turned  all  the  slices  o'  ham  over  with  his  fork  before 
he'd  taste  'em — nice  thin  slices  o'  pink  home-cured  ham — an'  he 
emptied  the  dough-nuts  right  off  the  platter  onter  the  table,  an' 
squinted  at  the  dish  to  see  if  'twas  sticky  or  nothin'.  You  better 
b'lieve  I  was  spunky.  I  didn't  dream  he  was  lackin'  an'  a  leetle 
cracked,  but  I  thought  he  was  jest  the  stuckuppest  feller  I  ever 
see  in  all  my  born  days.  He  went  out  walkin'  before  dark,  an'  I 
run  inter  Miss  Cross's  to  see  how  Malviny  was  gittin'  along — she's 
got  the  yeller  janders,  ye  know — an'  when  I  come  back,  sure's 
you're  alive,  there  was  that  Chester  feller  up  on  a  chair,  a-lookin' 
on  my  toppest  pantry  shelf.  He  scuttled  down,  I  tell  ye,  when 
he  see  me,  an'  turned  as  red  as  a  beet,  an'  mumbled  suthin'  about 


170  AUNT  CHARRT'S  BOARDER. 

'lookin'  for  matches.'     Matches!  when  there  was  a  hull  card  on 
'cin  on  the  chimbley-piece  in  his  sleepin'-rooin. 

"  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  I'll  tell  ye  what  I've  found 
out — that  man  is  a  little  cracked  about  vittles!  lie's  allers  arter 
'em,  but  never  eats  much  on  'em.  He  pries  an'  spies  aroun'  the 
kitchen  an'  pantry  ;  he  sneaks  inter  my  north  cubberd,  where  I 
keep  my  jells  an'  sweetmeats;  he  squints  inter  ev'ry  dish  he  sees 
aroun',  as  if  he  was  starvin1  an'  hankerin'  arter  a  scrap  o'  suthin' 
to  fill  his  stummick;  but  when  I  hand  him  a  hunk  of  ging'bread 
or  a  piece  o'  rye-'n'-injun  bread  he  won't  look  at  it.  Some- 
times I  conceit  he's  one  o'  them  Libby  pris'n  men,  who  went  hun- 
gry so  long-  in  war  time,  an'  it  kinder  went  to  his  head ;  an'  agin 
I  think  mebbe  he's  lost  money  in  the  eatin'-house  bisness;  an' 
then  agin  I'm  ail  out,  an'  dunno  ivhat  to  make  on  him.  He's  got 
a  kinder  leetle  spy-glass  in  his  pocket,  an'  he  outs  with  it  ev'ry 
other  minnit  to  look  at  his  sarcer,  or  his  plate,  or  the  bowl  o'  ber- 
ries, an'  see  if  there's  enough  left  for  him,  an'  if  it's  good.  An' 
another  thing  makes  me  think  he's  ben  a  pris'ner,  he's  got  a  file 
in  his  pant'loons  pockit,  an'  he  hauls  it  out  kinder  ste'lthy  some- 
times'  an'  goes  to  filin'  suthin',  don't  make  no  matter  what — a 
plate,  or  a  cup,  or  the  cream-pot,  's  all  the  same  to  him.  Some- 
times he's  a-settin'  at  the  table  an'  I  hand  him  suthin',  an'  he  looks 
at  it  so  wild  and  queer  like,  an'  he  jumps  up  an'  runs  up-stairs  to 
his  room  for  'bout  a  minnit,  and  then  he  comes  back  a-mutterin' 
to  hisself.  I  mind  one  time  I  parst  him  the  cream-pot  to  put 
some  cream  on  his  strawb'ries,  an'  he  took  it  in  his  hand,  an'  I 
see  by  the  stary  look  in  his  eyes  the  tit  was  a-comin'  on,  an'  he 
out  with  his  tile  an'  he  filed,  an'  he  out  with  his  squinter  an'  he 
squinted,  an'  then  he  mumbled  an'  muttered  suthin'  about  a  gal 
he's  allers  a-talkin'  on.  '  Xo  Careline  there'  says  lie,  'sorft, 
sorft,'  says  he,  an'  sech  jabber  as  that.  lie  offen  'hides  to  (  are- 
line,  an'  to  some  other  gal  named  Toft — her  given  name's  Lois. 


AUNT  GHARRY'S  BOARDER.  171 

An'  lie's  profane,  too,  an'  makes  use  o'  pooty  bad  words.  '  Ifer- 
cu-lanyum  /'  says  he,  one  day,  so  loud  an'  feerce  it  give-  me  a  real 
start ;  an'  there  warnt  nary  a  thing  to  get  mad  about,  'cept  I 
shoved  the  big  pitcher  o'  new  milk  over  to  him  'stead  o'  parsin'  it 
perlite.  I  gin  him  a  sarcer  o'  batter  puddin'  one  time,  an'  he 
looked  at  it  all  over,  an'  then  he  mumbled  suthin'  about  its  bein' 
nothin'  but  sorft  paste.  Paste,  indeed,  and  made  by  Miss  Gen'- 
ral  Phelps's  own  receipt !  Las'  night  I  fetched  in  some  cherries 
jest  off  the  tree — the  Plunkit  Reds,  ye  know — an'  they  looked 
real  pooty  on  my  best  sprigged  chiny  cake  dish,  an'  I  set  'em 
down  on  the  table.  Mister  Chester  he  up  an'  ketched  'em  up  'an 
most  spilt  'em  on  the  floor,  lookin'  as  if  he  was  achin'  for  suthin' 
to  eat ;  but  he  set  'em  right  down  agin,  an',  says  he,  kinder  silly, 
like  an  idjut,  '  I  thought,'  says  he,  '  they  were  e«w^'-flowers,  but 
they're  jest  that  everlastin'  Lois  Toft's.'  I  could  'a  slat  'em  at  his 
head  I  was  that  mad  !" 

Now  I  had  listened  to  the  first  part  of  Aunt  Gharry's  story 
with  a  little  perplexity;  but  as  she  proceeded  a  light  broke 
upon  my  comprehension,  and  grew  brighter  and  brighter  to  the 
end,  when,  as  this  climax  and  the  old  lady's  insulted  offering 
of  cherries  were  reached,  I  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter. 

"  Well,  'tis  curus,"  said  Aunt  'Gharry.  "I'd  larf  too  if  1  warnt 
kinder  scary  about  crazies.  He  might  set  the  house  afire,  ye 
know,  or  jab  at  some  un  with  his  file." 

I  hugged  the  dear  old  woman  impulsively  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  assured  her  that  I  knew  no  harm  would  come  to  her  through 
her  erratic  guest,  and  then  added  : 

"  Let  me  go  home  with  you,  aunty,  and  see  this  queer  individ- 
ual. But,  for  fear  of  frightening  him  in  my  character  of  a  young 
lady  from  the  city,  let  me  be  a  village  girl  come  in  to  '  help.' 
You  shall  lend  me  an  apron,  my  cambric  dress  is  no  better  than 


172  AUNT  CJTARRT'S  BOARDER. 

many  a  waitress  wears,  and  I'll  play  'neat-handed  Phillis'  beauti- 
fully, as  you  shall  see." 

"  Law,  now.  Miss  Janey,  what  he  you  up  to  ?  You've  got  a  real 
wicked  look  in  your  eyes,  for  all  the  world  like  old  Major  Johnny 
when  he  was  goin'  to  cut  up  some  dido.     What  is  it,  deary  :" 

"  Nothing  wicked,  Aunt  Charry.  Just  be  good,  and  follow 
my  lead,  and  we'll  have  a  quiet  laugh  at  Mr.W.  (,>.  Chester,  and 
he  none  the  worse  for  it,  I  assure  you."  I  was  sincere  in  what  I 
said,  but  a  month  of  enforced  quiet  and  of  eager  longings  for  an 
adventure  to  stir  the  calm  monotony  of  my  life  in  Brayton  had 
somewhat  demoralized  me,  and  I  forgot,  for  the  moment,  that  it 
was  scarcely  courteous  to  plan  a  practical  joke  upon  a  stranger. 
even  though  he  were,  as  I  suspected,  trespassing  upon  my  own 
favorite  hunting-ground. 

"  Well,  well,  have  it  your  own  way,"  said  Aunt  Charry. 
"You're  your  mar's  own  child,  and  when  Lyddy  Burton  sot  her 
mind  on  anythin',  you  couldn't  budge  her  no  more'n  nothin'." 

"Then  don't  try  to  '  budge'  me,  aunty,  but  do  as  I  say,  please. 
And,  in  the  first  place,  you  must  not  call  me  '  Miss  Janey '  again 
to-night,  but '  Jane,'  for  I'm  your  '  hired  help,'  please,  mum.  And 
now  just  stop  one  minute  at  Dr.  Harris's,  for  1  have  an  errand 
there." 

Mrs.  Harris,  wife  of  the  village  doctor,  was  a  gentle,  refined 
woman,  who  fur  weary  months  and  years  had  lain  a  patient  suf- 
ferer in  her  pleasant  room.  Every  one  loved  her,  and  her  cham- 
ber was  filled  with  things  of  beauty  meant  to  be  joys  forever  to 
its  dear  occupant.  Pictures,  flowers,  fruit,  books,  filled  the  apart- 
ment, and  even  some  choice  bits  of  pottery  and  porcelain  adorn- 
ed the  shelves.  I  myself,  when  travelling  with  Uncle  George  in 
Europe  a  year  before,  had  remembered  the  invalid,  and  picked  up 
for  her  some  bright  little  pieces  of  old  Dresden,  Wedgwood,  and 
Worcester.      Other   journeying   friends    had   also   brought   from 


AUNT  CHARRY' S  BOARDEli.  173 

their  pilgrimages  similar  ceramic  souvenirs,  so  that  now  Mrs. 
Harris  possessed  a  really  creditable  little  "collection."  Leaving 
Aunt  Charry  outside,  I  ran  lightly  up -stairs  to  the  oft -visited 
room  (somehow  I  never  entered  it  without  thinking  of  those 
words  in  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress:"  "The  Pilgrim  they  laid  in 
a  large,  upper  chamber,  facing  the  sun-rising ;  the  name  of  the 
chamber  was  Peace  "). 

After  greeting  warmly  the  pale,  sweet  woman,  whose  smile 
was  always  like  sunshine,  I  said,  "  Dear  Mrs.  Harris,  I  can  stay 
but  a  minute.  Will  you  lend  me  something  without  my  explain- 
ing why  I  want  it  ?  I'll  tell  you  the  story  to-morrow."  I  knew 
what  the  result  of  my  appeal  would  be,  and  scarcely  waiting  for 
the  ready  response,  I  packed  carefully  in  papers  some  precious 
articles,  and  ran  down  to  Aunt  Charry  and  Dolly. 

Ten  minutes  more,  and  we  were  at  our  destination — a  pleasant 
old  place  known  for  miles  around  as  the  "  Burdick  Farm."  The 
boarder  was  invisible,  and  I  fancied  him  in  his  own  room,  poring 
over  a  mysterious  little  book  "  full  of  scribble-scrabbles  and  criss- 
crosses and  the  outlandishest  stuff,"  which  his  hostess  told  me  he 
was  addicted  to  the  use  of.  I  donned  a  white  apron,  and  assisted 
in  the  preparation  of  the  evening  meal.  I  also  gave  Mrs.  Bur- 
dick a  few  simple  hints  as  to  my  plan  of  operations,  that  she 
might  not  be  startled  or  taken  unawares.  Then  I  took  my  place 
with  folded  hands  and  demure  countenance  behind  Aunt  Charry's 
chair,  and  awaited  the  guest,  who  had  been  summoned  by  the 
shrill-toned  bell. 

He  came  promptly — a  tall  man  of  fifty  or  thereabouts,  with  a 
decided  stoop,  a  bald  head,  and  an  excessively  shy,  nervous  man- 
ner. He  seated  himself  without  seeming  to  notice  the  new  wait- 
ress, which  sign  of  abstraction  did  not  prepossess  me  in  his  favor. 
Aunt  Charry  poured  a  cup  of  fragrant  coffee,  and  I  carried  it  to 
Mr.  Chester.     As  I  placed  it  on  the  table,  he  started,  uttered  an 


174  A I  'NT  CHAItR  Y'S  BOA IWEli. 

exclamation,  and  then,  hastily  but  carefully  lifting  the  cup,  he 
placed  it  on  his  plate,  and  reversed  the  saucer.  Looking  in  a  be- 
wildered manner  at  the  mark  (Augustus  Rex),  his  face  flushed, 
and  he  muttered  words  which  his  hostess  evidently  thought 
meaningless  ravings:  "King's  period  —  superb  decoration."  I 
had  resumed  my  place  near  Aunt  Charry,  who  now,  without  turn- 
ing her  head,  -aid,  in  a  hollow  stage  whisper,  "It's  comin'  on; 
he'll  be  ravin'  distracted  in  a  minriit."  Hot  snowy  biscuits  and 
sweet  newly  made  butter  were  offered  and  accepted  silently,  and 
then  I  sought  to  tempt  our  guest  with  some  of  Aunt  Gharry's 
delicious  cottage  cheese.  This  cheese  in  its  creamy  whiteness 
reposed  upon  a  saucer-shaped  dish,  rich  in  red,  gold,  and  blue, 
and  somewhat  Oriental  in  its  style  of  decoration.  The  cheese 
was  ignored,  but  Mr.  Chester  seized  the  dish  almost  rudely,  and, 
lifting  it  high  in  air,  looked  upward  at  its  under  side.  Nowr 
the  mark  upon  this  dish  was  intended  for  the  fretted  square  of 
Worcester,  but  it  was  indistinct,  and  the  short-sighted  eyes  of 
our  maniac  failed  to  make  it  out. 

In  an  instant  he  placed  it  upon  the  table,  and  stammering  con- 
fusedly that  he  would  help  himself,  he  drew  out  "  kinder  ste'lthy," 
as  Aunt  Charry  would  say,  a  small  rile,  and  drew  it  once  or  twice 
across  the  base  of  the  dish.  Then,  still  murmuring  embarrassed 
apologies,  he  rose  hurriedly  and  left  the  room.  "Massy  me!" 
cried  aunty,  "  he's  jest  a-ravin'  bedlamer,  that's  what  he  is!"  I 
clapped  my  hands  in  delight.  "Oh,  it's  such  fun!  I  would  not 
have  missed  it  for  worlds.  And  there's  more  to  come."  Mr. 
Chester  re-entered  the  room,  redder  and  more  embarrassed  than 
ever,  and  again  took  his  place.  As  he  raised  the  dish  of  cheeses 
again  to  look  at  that  cabalistic  sign,  1  said,  taking  it  from  his 
hand,  "Is  it  sticky?  Them  servants  do  gorm  things  up  so.  I'll 
clean  it  in  a  jiffy,  mister,"  and,  unheeding  his  remonstrances,  I 
rushed  from  the   room  with  the  precious  vessel.     In   a  minute 


AUNT  OHARRY'S  BOARDER.  175 

more  the  inmates  of  the  "  settin'-room "  might  have  heard,  and 
evidently  did  hear,  a  crash,  and  when  I  re-entered  Mr.  Chester 
was  standing  looking  wildly  toward  the  door  and  me.  "  YYha- 
wha-what  ivas  it,  girl  ?"  he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Burdick  !"  I  exclaimed,  "  I'm  awful  sorry.  I've  hen 
an'  gone  an'  broke  your  red  plate  all  to  smash !" 

"  Good  heavens  !"  cried  our  guest,  "  and  where  are  the  pieces  ?" 

"  Well,  I  throwed  the  little  ones  down  the  sink,  an'  the  big 
ones  out  the  back-door." 

A  stifled  groan  was  the  only  response,  as  he  dropped  into  his 
chair. 

"Be  ye  sick,  mister?"  I  asked,  anxiously.  "Here,  take  a 
pickle ;  they're  real  hot  an'  pepp'ry,  an'  good  for  goneness  an' 
sech."  So  saying,  I  brought  to  the  despondent  man  some  pickled 
cucumbers,  their  bright  greenness  contrasting  charmingly  with 
the  cream-ware  dish,  decorated  with  mauve  flowers  and  green 
leaves,  which  held  them.  The  "  goneness  an'  sech  "  seemed  better 
at  once  as  the  patient  seized  the  dish  and  looked  eagerly  at  the 
mark  ("Wedgwood"  impressed  clearly  and  sharply,  and  having 
the  "comma  marks"  underneath). 

"  What,  is  that  stuck  up  too  ?  I  want  to  know  !  Lerarae  give 
it  a  wipe,"  and  I  attempted  to  take  it. 

"No,  no,  no  !"  cried  Mr.  Chester,  frantically.  "You  must  not, 
you  shall  not." 

"Highty-tighty!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Charry,  "what  in  airth  is 
the  matter?  Stop,  Miss — I  mean  Jane — don't  work  him  up, 
don't  reouse  him !" 

At  that  instant  the  roll  of  wheels  was  heard,  and  a  sudden 
thought  seizing  me,  I  left  the  pickle-dish,  and  went  out  of  the 
room.  I  did  not  return  for  some  fifteen  minutes,  and  when  I 
went  back  into  the  supper -room  it  was  to  find  the  boarder 
sitting   at  the  window,  but  with   an   eye   upon  the   table,  as   if 


176  AUNT  CITARRT'S  BOARDER. 

he  feared  another  accident,  and  meant  to  guard  that  cream-ware 
dish. 

"  Well,  if  I  hain't  had  a  season!"  I  said,  panting  with  fatigue. 
"Job  lVekliani,  the  peddler,  he  came  roun'  for  rags  an'  bottles 
an'  things,  an'  I  told  him  you  said  I  might  trade  off  the  old 
crockery  for  tin-ware,  an'  I  had  to  clime  up  to  the  toppest  shelf 
an'  git  down  all  the  old  stuff,  an'  I'm  all  dust  an'  dirt.  But  I  got 
two  new  dippers  an'  some  mixin'-pans  an'  pie-plates  an'  a  milk- 
pail,  an'  got  red  o'  all  them  old  bowls  an'  the  pitchers  with  them 
horrid  black  picters  on  'em,  an'  the  blue  plates  an'  platters,  an' 
the  big  posy  jars  that  took  up  so  much  room — "  I  paused,  for 
our  guest's  aspect  was  really  alarming,  lie  had  sprung  to  his 
feet,  his  face  was  flushed,  the  veins  stood  out  upon  his  forehead, 
and  he  looked  almost  apoplectic. 

"Where  is  that  peddler?"  he  thundered,  losing,  in  his  horror 
and  indignation,  his  natural  nervous  diffidence.  "  Quick,  girl,  tell 
me  this  instant:  where  is  that  peddler?'''' 

1  was  a  little  frightened,  I  must  confess,  at  the  spirit  I  had 
invoked;  but  I  answered,  a  little  sulkily,  "He's  on  the  road  to 
Wellfield  now,  and  a  good  ways  on,  too,  for  he  said  he  was  late, 
an'  he  went  like  a  streak  o'  lightnin'." 

Out  of  the  room,  out  of  the  hall,  out  of  the  front-door,  hatless, 
with  scanty  locks  flying  in  the  evening  breeze,  dashed  our  guest. 
In  vain,  repentant  and  remorseful,  I  called  to  him  to  return.  Ib- 
was  quickly  out  of  sight  and  hearing.  I  turned  to  Aunt  Charry. 
For  the  first  time  in  all  the  years  I  had  known  her,  the  dear  old 
woman  looked  at  me  severely  and  with  disapproval.  "Now 
you've  done  it,  Jane  Forsythe !"  she  said;  "and  you  hadn't 
oughter.  Jokes  is  jokes;  but  he's  old  enough  to  be  your  par, 
an'  he'll  run  hisself  into  a  sweat  an'  get  his  death  o'  cold." 

"I'm  sorry,  Aunt  Charry — oh,  I  am  sorry!  Don't  be  angry. 
T'll  make  it  all  right;   I'll  tell  him  the  whole  truth."     At  that 


AUNT  GHARRY'S  BOARDER.  177 

moment  I  spied  Dr.  Harris  driving  by  in  his  gig,  and,  rushing  to 
the  door,  I  called  him.  lie  drew  up,  startled  by  my  quick  call 
and  excited  look. 

"  Why,  what's  this,  Janey  ?     Any  one  sick  ?" 

"  No,  no.  But  please  take  me  in  ;  do,  dear  doctor,  and  drive 
down  toward  Wellfield."  I  sprang-  in  even  as  I  spoke,  and  as  we 
drove  rapidly  down  the  road,  I  made,  as  well  as  I  was  able,  a  hur- 
ried confession  of  my  sins.  The  doctor  smiled  grimly.  "You 
ought  to  be  scolded,  child,"  lie  said;  "but — I  went  to  school 
with  your  mother,  and  played  '  hookey '  with  her  too  many  times 
to  be  very  hard  on  her  daughter  for  taking  after  her."  I  pressed 
closer  to  the  good  doctor's  side,  glad  to  be  forgiven  by  somebody, 
and  we  rode  on.  It  was  not  long  before  we  saw  our  wanderer. 
He  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  children,  who  stared  wonder- 
ingly  at  his  bare  head  and  red  face  as  he  questioned  them  eagerly. 
"  Hain't  seen  no  peddler,"  "  Don't  know  no  Job  Peckham,"  they 
were  saying,  as  we  came  up  to  the  group. 

Dr.  Harris  looked  in  a  quick,  surprised  manner  at  the  weary 
man,  and  then,  springing  from  his  seat,  lie  cried,  "  Chester,  is  it 
possible  ?  Where  under  the  sun  did  you  drop  from  ?"  The  two 
men  shook  hands  heartily,  while  I  shrank  abashed  into  the  far- 
thest corner  of  the  gig.  After  a  few  words  of  greeting  and  ex- 
planation, which  showed  me  that  the  two  were  old  college  friends, 
the  doctor  suddenly  remembered  me  and  my  sins. 

"Chester,"  he  said,  "do  you  remember  pretty  Lydia  Burton, 
whom  you  met  here  one  summer  vacation  more  than  twenty 
years  ago  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do  !  The  loveliest  little  wild  rose  of  a  girl.  What 
has  become  of  her?" 

"  She  has  been  up  to  a  good  many  things  since  then,  and, 
among  other  operations,  has  raised  and  spoiled  this  naughty  girl 
here,  Miss  Janey  Forsythe.     She  has  been  very  discourteous,  she 

12 


178  AUNT  €  HARRY'S  BOARDER. 

tells  me,  to  her  mother's  old  friend;  but  I  am  sure,  for  that 
mother's  sake,  you  will  forgive  her."  Mr.  Chester  looked  bewil- 
dered, but  I  hastened  to  speak. 

"  Do  forgive  me,  Mr.  Chester;  I  was  only  in  fun.  Aunt  Charry 
told  me  about  the  file  and  the  glass,  and  what  you  said  about  soft 
paste,  and  Caughley,  and  Lowestoft,  and  I  knew  you  must  be  : 
collector,  and  I'm  one,  and —  Oh,  I  borrowed  that  Dresden  and 
the  Worcester  and  Wedgwood,  and  I  did  not  break  anything, 
and  there  is  no  peddler,  and  Aunt  Charry  has  only  a  very,  very 
few  old  things,  and  she  won't  let  even  one  have  them  ;  so  I'm  sure 
you  could  not  buy  them,  and —  Oh,  do  forgive  me,  and  I'll  let 
you  hunt  all  over  Brayton,  and  not  be  a  bit  vexed." 

I  stopped,  breathless  and  flushed.  Mr.  Chester  had  at  first 
looked  seriously  annoyed,  but  by  degrees  a  smile  broke  over  his 
face,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  my  incoherent  confession  he  laughed 
outright. 

We  all  went  home  together.  Aunt  Cham's  mystification  was 
enlightened,  and  she  punished  me  in  a  way  I  felt  deeply  when 
she  presented  to  Mr.  Chester  the  large  Liverpool  pitcher  marked 
"  Herculaneum  "  so  long  coveted  by  myself. 

I  shall  doubtless  long  remember  the  lesson  this  adventure 
taught  me,  for  I  am  a  frequent  visitor  in  a  delightful  Boston 
home,  where,  in  the  choice  company  of  many  a  ceramic  gem, 
stands  the  stately  pitcher  I  was  the  means  of  securing  for  Aunt 
Charry's  boarder. 


24.  The  Peasants'  Dance  Mug:   pnge  250. 

[Old  English  salt-glazed  stone-ware  ;  decorations  in  relief,  and  colored.] 


X. 

POTTERY   AND  RELIGION. 

The  clergymen  of  Littleville  are  busy  men.  The  poor,  the  sick, 
the  sorrowing,  whether  in  or  out  of  their  parishes,  are  looked 
after,  and  there  is  work  enough  for  them.  They  are  seldom  able 
to  attend  our  club  meetings,  but  both  of  them  (the  Congrega- 
tional and  Episcopalian — these  are  the  only  churches  we  have)  are 
interested  in  pottery,  and  drop  in,  when  they  can,  to  get  and  give 
information.  It  was  a  fortunate  meeting  at  which  they  were 
both  present,  for  it  had  been  agreed  that  we  would  devote  a  ses- 
sion to  the  relations  of  ceramic  art  with  religion.  The  amount 
of  information  which  they  and  other  members  contributed,  in  the 
course  of  a  free  conversation,  without  much  order,  justified  the 
choice  of  a  subject  for  that  day's  discussion  and  this  chapter, 
which  is  far  from  being  a  perfect  report  of  all  that  was  said. 

Collectors  of  pottery  and  porcelain  have  the  excuse  that  the  art 
not  only  illustrates  the  beautiful,  but  that  it  is  connected  in  all 
periods,  not  only  with  history,  romance,  and  poetry,  but  also  with 
religion.     A  collection  is  thus  fall  of  associations  and  suggestions. 

In  the  Bible  we  find  frequent  allusions  to  this  subject.  The 
first  pottery  which  is  mentioned  there  is  that  made  by  the  ambi- 
tious builders  of  Babel,  when  they  "  said  one  to  another,  Go  to, 
let  us  make  brick,  and  burn  them  thoroughly.'" 

The  undertaking  terminated  disastrously ;  and  one  is  some- 
times reminded,  when  listening  to  the  eager  talk  of  a  roomful  of 
absorbed  china  collectors,  with  its  mysterious  allusions,  and — to 


182  TOTTERY  AND  RELIGION. 

the  uninitiated — incomprehensible  jargon,  of  that  old  tower  and 
the  confusion  of  tongues  which  fell  upon  its  builders.  Later,  the 
captive  Israelites,  in  Egypt,  made  brick  and  built  treasure  cities 
for  Pharaoh  ;  and  it  was  the  king's  cruel  mandate  that,  while  the 
"tale  of  the  bricks  which  they  did  make  heretofore"  was  not  to 
be  diminished,  yet  the  workmen  were  to  gather  their  own  straw 
for  the  work,  which  roused  the  oppressed  people  to  resistance. 
(An  irreverent  young  person  suggested  that  it  was  the  "  last 
straw"  which  broke  their  backs!  but  I  decline  to  incorporate  the 
remark  into  my  report.)  The  Egyptian  bricks,  however,  were 
perhaps  only  sun-dried  clay  mixed  with  straw.  Some  royal  pot- 
tery works  arc  referred  to  in  1  Chron.  iv.,  23 — "These  were  the 
potters,  and  those  that  dwelt  among  plants  and  hedges :  there 
they  dwelt  with  the  king  for  his  work."  Jeremiah  the  prophet 
was  sent  to  a  pottery,  there  to  learn  a  divine  lesson :  "  Arise,  and 
go  down  to  the  potter's  house,  and  there  I  will  cause  thee  to  hear 
my  words.  Then  T  went  down  to  the  potter's  house,  and,  be- 
hold, he  wrought  a  work  on  the  wheels.  And  the  vessel  that  he 
made  of  clay  was  marred  in  the  hand  of  the  potter;  so  he  made 
it  again  another  vessel,  as  seemed  good  to  the  potter  to  make  it." 
"  Behold,  as  the  clay  is  in  the  potter's  hand,  so  are  ye  in  my  hand, 
O  house  of  Israel."  And  again  the  same  prophet  is  commanded 
to  take  a  "potter's  ancient  bottle"  and  break  it  before  the  people, 
as  a  sign  of  the  destruction  which  was  to  come  upon  them. 

"As  the  potter  treadeth  the  clay;"  "as  clay  in  the  potter's 
hands;"  "as  earthen  pitchers,  the  work  of  the  hands  of  the  pot- 
ter;" "he  shall  break  it  as  the  breaking  of  a  potter's  vessel;" 
— these  are  all  Scriptural  allusions  to  the  ceramic  art.  And  in 
Proverbs  we  read  of  "  a  potsherd  covered  with  silver  dross," 
which  is  either  pottery  or  earthen-ware  covered  with  silver  lustre 
such  as  is  familiar  to  most  of  us. 

"  Possiblv,"  said   Rev.  Dr.  Wells,  "the  allusion  in  this  case  is 


, 


POTTERY  AND  RELIG10X.  183 

to  a  broken  crucible,  '  a  fining-pot  for  silver, '  such  as  is  mentioned 
in  Proverbs  xvii.  ;"  and  thereupon  the  learned  Doctor  proceeded 
"to  talk  at  some  length,  and  said  so  many  things  new  and  striking 
that  I  ventured  the  next  day  to  ask  him  to  write  it  out  for  me. 
He  pleaded  much  work  to  do ;  but  he  is  always  kind,  and  a  few 
days  later  sent  me  a  sketch  of  some,  but  far  from  all,  of  the  inter- 
esting things  he  said : 

"  Some  passages  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  may  be  read  with  new 
interest  if  the  reader  learn  a  little  about  pottery.  For  pottery 
must  have  been  used  in  the  Jewish  families,  although  so  little  is 
said  about  it  in  the  Sacred  Writings.  There  are  occasional  allu- 
sions to  it  in  the  New  Testament  which  are  not  without  impor- 
tance. The  memorable  interview  at  the  well  of  Jacob,  where  the 
Lord  talked  with  the  woman  of  Samaria,  furnishes  one  example. 
She  had  come  to  draw  water,  and  when  she  went  to  the  city  to 
tell  her  friends  the  marvellous  story,  she  forgot  her  special  errand 
at  the  well  and  left  her  '  water-pot '  standing  there.  If  one  but 
had  that  earthen  jar,  what  a  treasure  it  would  seem  !  It  would  be 
such  a  constant  reminder  of  so  many  of  the  wonderful  words 
that  were  spoken,  while  it  stood  there  by  the  well-side,  of  which 
it  and  its  purpose  were  the  suggestion.  But  as  we  cannot  iden- 
tify it  or  its  fragments,  it  is  worth  noting  that  the  modern  Ori- 
ental custom  is  like  the  ancient,  of  using  earthen  water-pots  to 
contain  water,  and  women  go  to  the  river,  the  spring,  or  the  well 
with  large  earthen  jars,  which,  filled  with  water,  they  lift  to  the 
tops  of  their  heads,  and  carry  home,  marching  with  a  stately  step 
that  Western  civilization  may  envy. 

"The  form  of  the  water -pot  of  the  Samaritan  woman  was 
probably  the  hydria  of  the  Greeks,  and  in  the  account  of  St.  John 
it  is  so  called.  The  word  is  udrian,  and  is  the  same  word  used 
in  describing  the  stone  water-pots  at  the  marriage-feast  at  Cana. 
The  form  is  generally  supposed  to  be  an  ovoid  vase,  with  a  mouth 


184  POTTERY  AXD  RELIGION. 

somewhat  large,  and  two  bandies,  placed  horizontally  on  the  swell 
of  the  vase.  But  the  word  means  simply  what  it  is  translated 
in  our  Bible,  a  water-pot,  and  its  shape  may  have  varied  greatly. 
The  ordinary  earthen  water-pot  of  the  East,  used  by  women  to 
bring  water  to  their  houses,  will  hold  four  or  five  gallons.  Usu- 
ally when  full  it  is  so  heavy  that  two  others  lift  it  to  the  head  of 
the  bearer,  where  it  rests  on  a  cushion.  The  stationary  water- 
pots  in  houses  were  sometimes  much  larger. 

"  The  Greek  customs  in  this  respect  we  know'  pretty  well,  and 
it  seems  likely  that  the  same  general  customs  prevailed  through 
Eastern  countries.  The  vases  commonly  used  in  houses  for  wa- 
ter, and  for  wine  at  large  feasts,  were  what  the  Greeks  called  the 
kmter.  These  were  pottery  vases,  with  wide  mouths,  into  which 
it  was  very  easy  to  dip  a  pitcher;  for  they  used  pitchers  not  un- 
like our  most  common  forms.  The  command  of  the  Divine 
Guest  at  the  wedding  was  obeyed,  probably,  by  dipping  earthen 
pitchers  into  the  open  tops  of  the  stone  vases,  and  pouring  the 
miraculous  wine  into  earthen  cups,  for  the  governor  of  the  feast 
first,  and  then  for  the  guests.  The  stone  water-pots  at  Cana  were 
probably  much  like  the  kraters  in  Greek  and  Roman  houses. 
Perhaps  the  use  of  pottery  for  household  vases  had  given  place 
in  Palestine,  as  in  Greece  and  other  Roman  possessions  at  this 
date,  to  vases  of  stone  and  metal.  Possibly  the  stone  vases  are 
to  be  regarded  as  evidence  of  the  wealth  of  the  family. 

"Although  the  great  admiration  of  pottery,  which  was  a  Greek 
characteristic,  had  died  out,  and  the  Romans  neglected  the  beau- 
tiful departments  of  the  ceramic  art,  it  was  still  true  that  earthen- 
ware was  made  for  a  thousand  purposes  of  utility,  and  the  poorer 
elasses  in  all  countries  continued  to  use  it,  in  undecorated  styles, 
for  household  purposes.  How  extensively  [tottery  was  manufact- 
ured in  Palestine  at  this  time  we  have  no  means  of  knowing. 
The  Potter's  Field  at  Jerusalem  has  given  a  name  to  burial-places 


POTTERY  AND  RELIGION.  185 

for  the  poor  in  later  ages,  and  it  was  probably  a  place  where  pot- 
teries had  existed.  This  name  may,  indeed,  have  dated  back  to 
the  period  when  there  was  that  guild  of  potters  in  Jerusalem  who 
worked  for  the  king  (l  Chron.  iv.,  23).  The  familiarity  of  the 
Israelites  with  potters  and  their  work  is  evidenced  by  the  use  of 
this  art  in  illustrations  by  their  writers.  The  power  of  the  pot- 
ter over  the  clay  can  only  be  appreciated  by  one  who  has  seen 
the  potter  exercise  it.  The  wheel  turns,  the  lump  of  clay  is 
thrown  on  it,  the  potter's  fingers  touch  it,  and  as  if  by  magic  it 
assumes  form,  to  be  an  ornament  of  the  house,  a  cup  for  the  fa- 
vored guest  at  the  feast — a  vessel  of  honor,  or  a  slop-bowl,  or  a 
spittoon — a  vessel  of  dishonor.  The  Hebrews  must  have  been 
familiar  with  this  work. 

"St.  Luke,  in  his  account  of  one  of  the  miracles  of  the  Lord, 
describes  men  taking  a  sick  man  up  to  a  house-top  and  letting 
him  down  'through  the  tiling'  (Luke  v.,  19).  Did  they  roof 
houses  with  pottery  tiles?  There  is  no  reason  against  believing 
it.  Roman  customs  had  invaded  the  East  at  this  time,  and  no 
nation,  ancient  or  modern,  made  more  extensive  use  of  pottery 
tiles  than  the  Romans.  So,  too,  not  many  centuries  before  this, 
returning  from  the  Captivity,  the  Hebrews  might  have  brought 
the  use  of  pottery  in  architecture  from  the  Euphrates  valley. 
Nineveh  and  Babylon  were  great  cities  of  pottery,  with  pottery 
tiles  on  walls  and  temples  and  palaces,  glazed  and  colored.  In 
the  time  of  Ezekiel  there  seems  to  have  been  nothing  mysterious 
in  portraying  a  plan  of  a  city  on  a  tile,  and  representing  a  siege 
and  its  accompaniments  (Ezek.  iv.,  1).  St.  Luke's  use  of  the 
word  translated  'tiling'  leaves  no  doubt  of  a  ceramic  meaning. 
The  Greek  words  are  dia  ion  Jceramdn,  and  the  word  Jceramos 
means  a  pottery  object  of  some  kind.  If  they  built  their  houses 
like  the  modern  Egyptians,  with  pottery  jars  in  towers,  for  pigeon 
nests,  we  might  imagine  the  word  to  mean  'jars;'  and  in  Caper- 


186  POTTERY  AND  RELIGION. 

naam,  where  tins  occurred,  they  may  have  done  so.  St.  Mark 
describes  the  same  scene,  and  says  they  broke  up  the  roof;  and 
the  simplest  explanation  would  seem  to  be  that  the  roof  was 
made  of  tiles,  of  which  they  removed  some  to  let  the  sick  man 
down  through  the  break. 

"  Long  hack  in  their  history  the  Hebrews  had  been  potters. 
The  brickmaking  in  Egypt  was,  perhaps,  only  the  making  of  sun- 
dried  brick,  strengthened  with  straw.  Such  bricks  remain  abun- 
dant in  the  ruins  of  ancient  Egypt.  Some  may  have;  been  burned 
into  pottery,  but  authorities  are  not  agreed  as  to  whether  the 
Egyptians  made  any  burned  brick  before  Roman  times.  But  the 
eighty-first  Psalm,  referring  to  the  Egyptian  captivity  and  deliv- 
erance, speaks  of  the  relief  of  Israel,  'his  shoulder  from  the  bur- 
den, his  hand  from  the  pots.'  So  it  seems  probable  that  in 
Egypt  they  worked  in  potteries  as  slaves.  Modern  travellers  tell 
us  that  Egyptian  brickmakers  tread  the  wet  clay  with  their  feet 
to  mix  it.  Probably  the  captive  Israelites  did  so  in  old  times, 
and  Isaiah  uses  the  illustration  of  a  potter  treading  clay  (Isaiah 
xli.,  25). 

"In  the  desert  of  the  Exodus  they  had  earthen  vessels,  and  as 
there  is  no  probability  that  these  were  Egyptian  fabrics,  lasting 
through  all  their  journeyings,  it  is  to  be  supposed  they  found 
day  and  founded  potteries.  The  Levitical  law  makes  mention 
of  such  vessels,  and  directs  the  priest  in  one  ceremony  always  to 
use  one  (Numb,  v.,  IV). 

"Put  perhaps  nowhere  is  there  a  better  illustration  of  how 
much  the  Hebrews  knew  about  pottery  than  in  the  wonderful 
book  of  the  AVisdom  of  the  Son  of  Sirach.  In  a  single  passage 
he  sums  up  the  wdiolc  art: 

'So  doth  the  potter,  sitting  at  his  work,  and  turning  the  wheel  about  with 
his  feet,  who  is  alway  carefully  set  at  his  work  :  and  maketh  all  his  work  by 
number.     He  fashioneth  the  clay  with  his  arm,  and  boweth  down  his  strength 


TOTTERY  AND  RELIGION.  187 

before  his  feet;  he  applieth  himself  to  lead  it  over;  and  he  is  diligent  to 
make  clean  his  furnace.' 

"  That  is  a  text  for  a  volume  on  ceramic  art.  One  can  see  the 
ancient  potter,  his  arm  plunged  deep  in  a  mighty  amphora  on  the 
turning-wheel,  turned  by  the  steady  pressure  of  the  strong  foot, 
while,  skilful  and  cautious,  he  literally  bows  down  to  use  his  arm 
for  the  form  and  his  feet  for  the  power.  Then  comes  the  glaze. 
There  is  no  'lead'  in  the  Greek  of  Ben  Sirach.  Unfortunately, 
we  have  lost  the  original  Hebrew,  and  have  only  the  Greek  of 
his  grandson,  some  two  centuries  before  our  era.  The  expression 
'  to  lead  it  over ?  is  interesting  as  showing  the  notion  of  the  Eng- 
lish translators,  about  a.d.  1600,  that  lead  glaze  was  the  proper 
covering  of  an  earthen  vase.  The  Greek  of  Ben  Sirach,  however, 
may  imply  that  shining  lustre,  which  is  the  characteristic  of  Greek 
vases  of  the  best  time,  a  thin,  varnish-like  surface,  probably  a  true 
glaze,  but,  as  yet,  defying  analysis.  The  word  vfsed  is  chrisma, 
an  ointment,  perhaps  a  general  word  for  a  varnish,  but  here  clear- 
ly intended  to  mean  either  a  true  glaze  or  a  lustrous  surface, 
applied  with  care.  In  all  times,  then,  doubtless,  as  in  our  day, 
every  potter  was  proud  of  his  own  peculiar  glaze. 

"  It  is  remarkable  that  no  ancient  pottery  of  the  Hebrews  has 
been  found.  But  then  it  is  not  so  remarkable  when  we  remem- 
ber how  few  modern  explorations  have  been  made  among  the 
ruins  of  Hebrew  cities.  The  excavations  of  the  Palestine  Ex- 
ploration Society  at  Jerusalem  have  not  been  extensive,  but  were 
confined  to  searching  for  architectural  remains  and  topographical 
indications.  No  one  has  opened  the  tombs  of  ancient  Hebrews 
to  see  if  they,  like  the  Gentiles,  buried  home  treasures  with  their 
dead.  Down  in  the  dust  of  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  perhaps 
some  day  will  be  found  some  of  the  pottery  which  they  used, 
and  then  we  may  know  a  little  of  the  household  furniture  and 
the  table  customs  in  such  families  as  those  of  Lazarus  and  his 


188  TOTTERY  AND  RELIGION. 

sisters,  and  of  Simon  the  Pharisee,  and,  perhaps,  even  of  men  and 
women  of  the  limes  of  David.  I  will  not  discuss  the  so-called 
Moabite  pottery.  That  is  just  now  a  subject  of  so  much  doubt, 
that  we  must  wait  awhile  before  determining  whether  it  is  old, 
or  a  modern  fraud. 

"  With  the  religious  history  and  religious  customs  of  other  an- 
cient nations,  pottery  is  closely  allied.  We  can  hardly  estimate 
how  much  of  our  knowledge  of  Greek  mythology  we  owe  to 
Greek  pottery.  And  perhaps  it  ought  also  to  be  said  that  we 
owe  a  great  deal  of  our  ignorance  to  the  same  cause.  For  the 
pottery  is  so  rich  in  its  picture  illustration  of  the  deeds  of  gods 
and  heroes  that  men  have  gotten  into  a  way  of  thinking  it  easy 
to  read  the  unwritten  stories  thus  pictured.  Hence  a  considera- 
ble amount  of  error  and  confusion,  and  a  sad  muddle  of  history, 
heroism,  and  mythology.  For  the  Homeric  poems  find  such 
abundant  illustration  on  the  vases,  that  it  is  really  difficult  to 
think  of  the  pictures  as  pure  imaginations.  And  so  gods  and 
men  are  getting  to  be  mixed  up  in  some  men's  minds  as  alike 
historical  persons. 

"  No  one,  however,  can  know  well  the  religious  ideas  of  the 
Greeks  without  having  studied  Greek  vases.  Of  the  literature  of 
Greece  we  have  a  small  reliquium,  a  very  small  remnant  out  of  a 
vast  amount  once  existing.  Philosophy  and  Poetry  in  innumera- 
ble volumes  have  vanished.  But  the  pictures  of  Greek  artists  we 
have  by  the  thousand,  and  one  cannot  study  these  representations 
of  the  supernatural  ism  of  the  Greeks  without  thinking  that,  for 
knowledge  of  Greek  religious  sentiment,  it  would  be  better  to 
lose  all  the  writings  than  to  lose  the  pictures. 

"Rough  estimates  have  been  made  of  the  numbers  of  Greek 
vases  now  in  museums,  but  thousands  of  specimens  have  been 
added  since  the  latest  estimates.  Probably  there  arc  over  fifty 
thousand  pictures,  by  Greek  artists,  now  extant  in  European  and 


POTTERY  AND  RELIGION.  189 

American  museums  of  art.  The  large  majority  of  these  pictures 
have  religious  significance.  All  Greek  pictorial  art  is  strikingly 
realistic.  A  Greek  painted  vase  tells  a  plain,  distinct  story. 
Hence  the  value  of  the  Greek  vases  in  teaching  what  the  Greeks 
believed  about  their  gods.  These  pictures,  surrounding  the  daily 
life  of  the  Hellenic  families,  were  to  them  very  far  from  being 
imaginations.  They  entered  into  the  whole  life  of  the  young 
and  old.  They  were  perhaps  as  thoroughly  truthful  to  the  minds 
of  children  and  the  uneducated  masses  of  the  people  as  was  the 
great  body  of  painting,  and  wood  and  copper -plate  illustra- 
tion to  the  Italians  of  the  10th  century.  The  personality,  the 
adventures,  the  deeds  of  Mars,  Minerva,  Venus,  Bacchus,  were 
as  intelligibly  understood  by  the  Athenians  as  the  miracles 
of  St.  Nicholas,  the  life  of  Simon  Magus,  the  wonders  of  the 
necromancer  Virgilius,  and  other  subjects  of  the  cinque  cento 
pencil. 

"A  tolerably  correct  conception  of  the  religious  ideas  of  the 
people  of  Italy  in  the  years  1500-50  can  be  obtained  from  the 
vast  mass  of  religious  pictures  of  the  period;  more  correct,  prob- 
ably, than  from  contemporary  religious  or  historical  literature.  So 
of  the  Greek  times  and  Greek  people.  The  pictures  made  for 
people  show  what  they  liked,  what  they  believed,  while  contem- 
porary historians  are  rarely  trustworthy." 

Dr.  Wells's  notes  here  terminate  abruptly. 

The  Romans  looked  upon  pottery  with  veneration,  and  regard- 
ed some  of  their  terra-cottas,  especially  the  Quadriga  of  Veii,  as 
safeguards  to  the  city.  Although  admitting  gold  and  silver  ves- 
sels to  their  private  entertainments,  they  considered  earthen  ones 
most  proper  for  religious  ceremonies. 

The  Chinese — who  claim  the  invention  of  porcelain,  and  place 
it  somewhere  about  B.C.  200.  and  who  find  also  in  their  histor- 
ical annals  mention  of  pottery  in  the  reign  of  Hoang-ti,  guessed 


190  POTTERY  AND   RELIGION. 

to  be  2G98  before  the  Christian  era — have  enrolled  among  their 
deities  a  "  potter-martyr." 

Mr.  Marryal  says,  "  Ever}  trade  in  <  !hina  lias  its  peculiar  deity 
or  idol.     Pousa,  who  is  the  idol  worshipped  to  this  day  by  the 

fraternity  of  porcelain-makers,  owes  his  honors  to  those  kinds  of 
designs  which  it  was  impossible  for  the  workmen  to  execute. 
An  emperor  once  ordered  that  some  porcelain  of  a  certain  pat- 
tern should  be  made  for  him.  The  manufacturers  represented  to 
the  mandarin  charged  with  this  commission  that  the  execution  of 
the  order  was  impracticable  :  the  only  result  was  that  the  em- 
peror enjoined  the  performance  of  the  task  the  more  strenuously, 
and  gave  the  strictest  orders  for  its  completion.  The  manufact- 
urers exerted  all  their  energies,  but  their  endeavors  failed.  The 
mandarins  tried,  by  means  of  the  bastinado,  to  excite  them  to 
new  attempts.  The  workmen  were  in  despair,  and  one  of  them, 
named  Pousa,  to  escape  further  ill-usage,  sprang  into  the  glowing 
furnace,  and  was  immediately  consumed  in  the  flames.  When  the 
tiring  was  completed,  the  furnace  was  opened,  and  the  porcelain 
was  found  perfect  and  beautiful,  just  what  the  emperor  had  de- 
sired, and  Pousa,  the  martyr,  received  divine  honors.  The  little 
corpulent  figures  so  common  in  collections,  and  which  the  French 
call  magots,  are  images  of  this  divinity." 

It  would  seem  that  this  god  won  his  honors  rather  undeserved- 
ly, and  that  the  jumping  "from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire" — so 
to  speak — was  a  pusillanimous  act  on  the  part  of  Pousa,  rather 
than  a  heroic  immolation  of  himself  as  the  necessary  fuel  for  the 
completion  of  his  master's  work. 

Chinese  mythology  is  abundantly  illustrated  on  Chinese  porce- 
lain, but  it  is  remarkable  how  little  we  know  about  it  from  the 
books  of  travellers  and  missionaries.  There  must  be  an  immense 
literature  of  the  Chinese  pantheon  yet  to  be  read.  What  the 
kylins,  and  dragons,  and  lions,  and  Dogs  Fo,  and  sacred  birds  of 


POTTERY  AND  RELIGION.  19] 

wonderful  shapes  mean,  no  one  seems  to  understand.  Porcelains 
are  covered  with  pictures  of  them. 

One  of  the  members  of  the  club,  while  visiting  in  a  country 
village  in  Connecticut,  inquired  as  usual  about  ceramic  antiquities. 
"Do  you  care  for  idols?"  asked  the  good  lady  whom  she  was  vis- 
iting. Puzzled  but  persistent,  she  said  she  did  care  for  idols  if 
they  were  made  of  clay  and  baked,  and  thereupon  the  lady  pro- 
duced a  Chinese  figure,  in  ivory  white  porcelain  (the  rare  old 
white),  which  is  ordinarily  called  The  Dog  Fo.  (See  111.  13.) 
"That  was  old  Parson  Piersou's,"  said  the  lady.  "Many  a  time 
I  have  seen  him  hold  it  up  to  the  children  in  Sunday-school,  and 
tell  them  it  was  a  Chinese  idol — one  of  the  stocks  and  stones  that 
the  heathen  worship.  It  has  been  known  in  this  town  for  fifty 
years  as  Parson  Pierson's  idol."  An  honest  and  intelligent  ce- 
ramic collector  could  not  but  regard  it  as  a  duty  to  prevent  the 
renewal  of  such  an  error,  which  might  happen  though  the  good  old 
parson  was  long  since  dead,  and  accordingly  secured  the  specimen 
for  her  cabinet  by  a  liberal  offer.  When  it  was  exhibited  at  the 
club,  Dr.  Wells  gave  us  a  bit  of  information  which  may  be  placed 
on  record.  "An  eminent  Orientalist  and  Chinese  scholar  has  in- 
formed me  that  the  expression  The  Dog  Fo  is  a  misnomer.  This 
object  represents  a  lion,  not  a  dog,  and  is  the  symbol  of  The  God 
Fo,  or  Fuh.  The  proper  name  would  be  'The  Lion  of  Fuh.'" 
Some  discussion  ensued  about  the  frequent  occurrence  on  Chinese 
wares  of  lions  playing  with  balls,  and  of  animals  much  more  like 
dogs  than  lions,  and  not  much  like  either,  and  about  the  diagrams 
of  Fuh-hi  which  appear  among  Chinese  symbolic  decorations,  and 
about  the  mark  Fuh-che,  which  the  books  all  say  means  "  happi- 
ness ;"  and  at  length  we  all  got  so  confused  that  we  came  to  the 
conclusion  we  knew  as  little  about  Chinese  language  and  symbol- 
ism as  most  people,  and  dropped  the  subject. 

Christian  missions  have  had  no  small  influence  on  the  progress 


192  rOTTERY  AXD  BELIGION* 

of  ceramic  art  in  modern  times.  Some  of  the  most  valuable  in- 
formation in  regard  to  Oriental  porcelain  and  its  early  manufact- 
ure is  derived  from  the  writings  of  the  Jesuit  fathers  who  went 
as  missionaries  into  China  and  Japan. 

Francois  Xavier  d'Entrecolles,  the  Superior-General  in  China  of 
the  French  Jesuits  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  took  es- 
pecial pains  to  inform  himself  upon  this  subject.  He  learned 
much  from  his  Christian  converts,  among  whom  were  several 
workers  in  porcelain,  and  assured  himself  of  the  reliability  of  his 
information  by  reading  Chinese  works  on  the  same  subject.  In 
1712  he  wrote  a  letter  containing  detailed  accounts  of  his  discov- 
eries, which  he  sent,  together  with  specimens  of  the  materials  usee] 
in  the  manufacture  (principally  Kao-lin  and  Pe-tun-tse),  to  Father 
Orry  at  Paris.  In  this  letter  (published  in  "  Lettres  Edifiantes  et 
Curieuses  ecrites  des  Missions  etrangeres,"  Paris,  1781)  he  gives 
the  following  description  of  King-te-chin,  the  site  for  more  than 
eight  centuries  of  the  Imperial  porcelain  manufactory,  until  its 
destruction  a  few  years  ago  : 

"King-te-chin  wants  only  to  be  surrounded  by  walls  to  deserve  the  name 
of  a  city,  and  will  bear  comparison  with  the  largest  and  most  populous  cities 
of  China.  There  are  eighteen  thousand  families,  and  more  than  a  million  of 
souls.  It  is  situated  on  the  banks  of  a  fine  river.  The  expense  of  procuring 
materials  is  very  considerable,  for  everything  consumed  here  has  to  he  brought 
a  great  distance — even  the  wood  for  the  furnaces  nag  to  he  taken  a  hundred 
leagues;  provisions  also  are  very  dear;  yet  numerous  poor  families  find  em- 
ployment who  could  not  subsist  in  the  neighboring  towns.  The  young  and 
the  old,  the  lame  and  the  blind,  all  find  work  at  which  they  can  earn  a  liveli- 
hood, by  grinding  colors  or  otherwise." 

lie  also  states  that,  although  so  densely  populated  and  abound- 
ing in  wealth,  the  place,  which  was  not  surrounded  by  walls,  was 
governed  by  only  one  mandarin,  and  without  the  leasl  disorder. 
The  police  was  excellent.     Each  street  had  an  officer  appointed 


POTTERY  AND  RELIGION.  193 

by  the  mandarin,  and  each  officer  ten  subalterns.  Few  stran_ 
if  any,  were  allowed  to  -loop  iu  King-te-chin.  They  must  retire 
to  their  vessels  at  night,  unless  they  could  find  some  well-known 
inhabitant  who  would  be  answerable  for  their  honesty  and  good 
behavior.  Pere  d'Entrecolles  relates  that  the  mandarin,  who  was 
one  of  his  personal  friends,  made  presents  of  old  porcelain  to  his 
protector  at  court,  manufactured  by  himself.  He  possessed  the 
art  of  counterfeiting  the  ancient  ware  by  means  of  a  certain  yel- 
low earth,  which,  after  passing  through  several  processes,  produced 
a  porcelain  closely  resembling  that  of  the  Ming  dynasty. 

The  arrival  of  Father  d'Entrecolles's  letter  in  France,  with  the 
accompanying  specimens  was  regarded  as  highly  important;  and 
it  was  probably  from  the  experiments,  of  which  this  information 
and  the  materials  were  the  basis,  that  the  production  of  hard- 
paste  porcelain  at  Sevres  resulted. 

Another  priest,  Father  Solis,  a  Portuguese  missionary,  resided 
forty  years  in  China,  and  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  frauds  of  the 
Chinese,  and  among  them  their  imitations  of  old  porcelain.  In 
"The  Treatise  of  China,1'  by  the  Dominican  friar,  Gasper  de 
Cruz,  1557,  there  are  also  directions  for  making  porcelain. 

The  Portuguese  began  trade  with  Japan  as  early  as  1534,  and 
soon  succeeded  in  establishing  themselves  there  on  a  firm  footing. 
Under  their  influence  many  of  the  Japanese  embraced  Christian- 
ity ;  and  at  the  death  of  St.  Francis  Xavier,  in  1598,  the  converts 
amounted  to  a  million  and  a  half.  In  1641,  however,  they  were 
expelled  from  the  country,  and  some  40,000  of  their  Christian 
converts  were  proscribed  and  mas-acred.  Marryat  says,  "  What 
is  supposed  to  have  contributed  more  immediately  to  this  catas- 
trophe was  the  circumstance  of  the  Portuguese  mi--ionaries  hav- 
ing interfered  with  the  porcelain  manufactories,  and,  by  means  of 
their  converts,  caused  the  ware  to  be  ornamented  with  subjects 
copied  from  prints  of  Scripture  histories  and  legends  of  saints, 

13 


194  POTTERY  AND  RELIGION. 

instead  of  adhering  to  the  ancient  orthodox  native  patterns." 
Specimens  with  Christian  decorations  are  often  found. 

The  Cavalier  Cyprian  Piccolpassi  was  a  potter  at  Castel  Du- 
rante, in  the  Duchy  of  Urhino,  in  the  16th  century,  and  wrote  a 
treatise  on  the  art  of  making-  majolica.  It  is  a  practical  work, 
giving  minute  details  how  to  mix  pastes,  how  to  build  furnaces, 
how  to  place  the  wares  in  the  furnace — in  short,  every  part  of  the 
potter's  art.  Those  were  pious  days,  and  he  gives  pious  advice. 
After  directions  for  the  glaze,  he  says,  "This  being  done,  with 
the  name  of  God,  have  the  glaze  baked,"  etc.  In  the  final  baking 
he  regards  the  work  as  critical,  for  he  begins  his  directions  thus : 
"In  this  let  one  address  prayers  to  God  with  all  his  heart,  thank- 
ing him  for  what  he  has  given  us;  then  take  fire — considering 
always  the  state  of  the  moon,  for  this  is  of  the  utmost  conse- 
quence ;  *  *  *  consider,  above  all,  the  signs  of  rain,  which  is  a 
great  danger,  *  *  *  remembering  always  to  do  all  these  things 
as  directed,  with  the  name  of  Christ.  Then  light  the  fire,"  etc. 
In  another  place,  when  giving  instructions  for  the  first  baking, 
he  says  :  "All  being  finished,  with  the  sacred,  holy  name  of  God, 
take  a  wisp  of  straw,  and,  with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  light  the 
fire." 

The  dust  on  the  floor  of  the  "Holy  House  of  Lorctto  "  was 
formerly  swept  up  and  mixed  with  clay,  out  of  which  cups  and 
vases  were  made  and  sold  to  the  faithful  as  relics. 

The  conversation  ran  on  a  great  variety  of  subjects,  showing 
the  relations  of  pottery  to  religion,  religious  works,  and  history. 
We  talked  of  Bernard  i'alissy,  whose  history,  under  the  name  of 
"Palissv,  the  Totter,"  used  to  be  in  our  Sunday-school  libraries, 
and  who  died  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Bastille,  where,  the  Sunday- 
school  books  tell  us,  he  was  confined  for  his  religious  opinions, 
but  where  other  authorities  say  the  king  kept  him  for  safety; 
and  of  Arnandus,  bishop  of  Fulda,  who  established  a  porcelain 


FOTTEIiY  AND  RELIGION  195 

manufactory  in  a  building  adjoining  his  episcopal  palace,  and 
brought  the  art  to  great  perfection.  The  "Apostle  Mugs"  of 
ancient  times;  the  " Pilgrim  Bottles;"  the  dome  of  the  church 
at  Ravenna, composed  of  earthen  vessels  inserted  into  each  other; 
the  Dutch  tiles,  decorated  with  Scripture  scenes,  still  sometimes 
found  in  our  oldest  houses;  the  Moorish  plates,  or  bacini,  in  crusted 
in  the  walls  of  old  churches  in  Pisa ;  a  Roman  lamp  in  the  Ces- 
nola  Collection,  with  a  relief  representation  of  the  golden  candle- 
stick of  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem;  other  Roman  lamps  with  Chris- 
tian emblems  and  inscriptions,  found  in  ancient  tombs  near  the 
dead  who  died  in  the  faith  many  centuries  ago  —  these  all  were 
discussed,  for  all  belong  to  the  religious  history  as  well  as  the 
art  history  of  the  race. 

A  curious  use  of  pottery  in  religious  architecture  was  spoken 
of  as  discovered  in  old  churches  in  England  and  in  France,  which 
has  given  rise  to  considerable  discussion.  Empty  earthen-ware 
jars  have  been  found,  embedded  in  the  masonry,  especially  about 
the  choirs,  and  generally  underneath  the  stalls.  A  writer  in  Notes 
and  Queries  (III.  v.  25)  refers  to  these,  describing  several  which 
he  saw  in  an  old  church  in  Norwich.  It  seems  settled  that  they 
were  designed  for  acoustic  effect,  to  increase  the  sound  of  the 
singing.  A  writer  in  the  Gentleman 's  Magazine  (Nov.,  1863) 
quotes  from  the  Chronicle  of  the  Order  of  the  Celestines  at 
Metz  for  1432:  "It  was  ordered  that  pots  should  be  made  for 
the  choir  of  the  church  of  Ceans,  he  (Br.  Odo)  stating  that  he 
had  seen  such  in  another  church,  and  thinking  that  they  made 
the  chanting  resound  more  strongly."  It  is  said  some  churches 
in  France  have  them,  with  the  open  mouths  projecting  in  the 
choir.  Here  is  a  hint  for  churches,  built  as  many  are  now  with- 
out reference  to  acoustic  principles.  Sounding-boards  might  pos- 
sibly be  done  away  with,  and  a  judicious  arrangement  of  earthen 
jars  substituted. 


196  TOTTERY  AND  RELIGION. 

Specimens  in  cabinets  are  often  interesting  for  associations 
with  religious  ceremonies  or  customs.  Old  English  jugs  are 
known,  rude  pottery  of  the  17th  century,  which  were  specially 
made  for  "church-ale  festivals"  common  at  Whitsuntide.  One 
of  these,  for  instance,  is  described  as  of  white  pottery,  with  an 
inscription  in  blue, 'WHIT  1049.     (Notes  and  Queries,  I.  vi.  45.) 

In  a  well-known  American  collection  is  a  large  dish,  or  bowl, 
of  rude  red  pottery,  16  inches  in  diameter,  the  inside  enamelled 
white,  on  which  is  a  rough  picture  in  dark-blue  slip,  representing 
apparently  a  Communion-service.  Men  and  women  are  around  a 
table,  a  clergyman  standing  at  the  end.  Underneath  is  this  in- 
scription : 

"  wir  wollen  essen,  Gott  den  hcrren 
wollen  wir  nicht  vergessen. 
1780." 

Dishes,  bowls,  or  cups,  made  for  presentation  at  baptisms,  with 
the  name  of  the  child  and  date  of  the  ceremony,  are  sometimes 
found.  In  fine,  as  pottery  is  the  art  most  closely  associated  with 
the  domestic  life  of  men  and  women,  so  its  history  is  closely  re- 
lated to  their  religious  lives  in  all  ages  and  countries. 


25.  Where  do  they  put  the  Pepper  in?  page  236 

[Staffordshire  white  aud  blue  pottery.] 


26.  Bow  Creamer  :  page  252. 

[Porcelain  :  embossed  leaves  :  flowers  in  relief,  aud  painted  :  Bow.] 


XL 

MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 


No  "banquet-hall  deserted"  did  Ave  find  Daisy  Farm,  even  in 
May,  when  Bess  and  I  left  the  city,  weary  of  these  first  hot, 
scorching  days,  and  fled  thither.  No  great,  empty,  desolate  hotel 
received  us,  but  the  door  stood  wide  open,  and  under  the  vine- 
wreathed  porch  stood  dear  old  Aunt  Thusy,  with  wrinkled  face 
alight  with  welcoming  smiles.  Uncle  Seth  swung  back  the  wide 
gate  for  our  entrance  ;  Cynthy,  all  blushes  and  smiles,  stood  half 
hidden  behind  her  father,  while  Jase  leaned  against  the  apple-tree, 
and  gazed  up  into  its  branches  with  a  proud  diffidence  we  well 
understood. 

I  will  not  tell  you  of  all  the  words  of  hearty  greeting,  the  warm 
hand-clasps,  the  motherly  hug  of  Aunt  Thusy,  and  the  wild  dance 
of  triumph  executed  by  Iry.  I  will  not  be  uselessly  aggravating, 
nor  make  too  "  odorous  "  comparisons.  Ah,  how  good  it  is  to 
be  here  again !  Every  nook  and  corner  of  the  farm  is  crammed 
with  memories ;  even  the  cows  seem  familiar  friends,  and  I  am 
sure  my  favorite  one,  old  White  Face,  wore  a  look  of  recognition 
in  her  soft  brown  eyes  as  I  greeted  her.  We  miss  some  favorite 
chickens ;  and  our  two  pet  turkeys,  Gobble  and  Hobble,  are  no 
more  here.  We  ask  no  questions  touching  their  fate,  but  Bess 
says  energetically,  as  she  looks  at  a  certain  branch  of  the  old 
quince-tree,  the  favorite  roosting-place  of  our  lost  friends,  "  I 
always  did  hate  Thanksgiving-day  !" 


200  MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

The  weather  has  heen  charming,  never  too  warm ;  and  if  the 
evenings  are  chilly  it  is  only  an  added  charm,  for  the  wood  fire 
is  lighted  in  the  "  keepin'-room,"  and  we  gather  around  it  for 
quiet,  pleasant  chat. 

Cherries  are  ripe,  and  the  Daisy  Farm  cherries  are  delicious. 
One  variety,  which  Uncle  Seth  calls  the  "Talcott  hlack,"  is  rich, 
juicy,  and  sweet  beyond  compare.  We  have  cherry  pies  and 
cherry  puddings,  and  a  certain  cherry  short-cake  which  is  inde- 
scribable. Aunt  Thusy  herself  concocts  it  from  a  recipe  given 
her  years  ago  by  "  Mis'  Kernel  Bates's  sister-in-law ;  she  'twas 
Nancy  Stillman,"  and  we  welcome  it  and  its  accompanying  his- 
tory gladly  whenever  it  appears. 

"  Have  some  more  short-cake,  Miss  Ethelburty  ?  It's  good,  if  I 
did  make  it  myself.  No  credit  to  me,  howsomever,  for  I  jest  fol- 
lered  the  receipt,  word  for  word,  as  Mis'  Good'n  gin  it  to  me  (Mis' 
Kernel  Bates's  sister-in-law,  ye  know;  she  'twas  Nancy  Stillman). 
Don't  seem  more'n  las'  night  I  happen'd  into  'Lisher  Good'n's 
nigh  on  to  supper-time  in  cherry  seas'n.  'Miry  Jane,  she  was  a 
settin'  the  table,  an'  pooty  soon  she  fetched  in  a  big  dish  o' 
suthin',  all  light  an'  white  an'  riz  up;  an'  says  I,  'What's  that, 
Miry  Jane?'  an'  says  she,  'One  o'  mar's  cherry  short-cakes,'  says 
she.  '  Well,'  says  f, '  that's  suthin'  new  to  me,'  though  I  s'pose  I've 
made  as  many  strawb'ry  short-cakes  as  the  nex'  man.  An'  Mis' 
Good'n,  she  says,  '  Ye  don't  tell  me  so.'  Says  she,  '  Why  over  to 
Gosh'n  we  don't  know  it's  summer  till  we've  had  our  cherry  short- 
cake. Now  set  up,  Thusy,'  says  she,  'an'  see  'f  ye  like  it.'  An' 
she  wouldn't  hear  to  my  not  stayin',  so  I  sot  up,  an'  if  T  was 
help'd  once  I  was  help'd  I  dunno  how  offen.  1  jest  stuffed;  an' 
ye  better  b'lievc  I  was  sick  that  night,  sicker'n  a  hoss,  with  colleiy- 
morbers,  till  Seth,  he  thought  every  minnit  would  be  my  nex'. 
An'  I  sent  over  an'  got  the  receipt  nex'  day,  an'  I  hain't  missed 
ary  summer  havin'  cherry  short-cake  sence.     0  massy  saTces,  how 


MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  201 

it  did  stir  me  up  that  night!  Do  take  another  plateful,  ]NJ i>s 
Ethelburty.     Ye  don't  eat  no  mor'n  a  chippin'  bird." 

The  flowers  are  very  plentiful  this  year,  and  we  come  home 
from  the  woods  aud  meadows  and  swamps  laden  with  lovely  blos- 
soms. Bess  amused  herself  the  other  day  by  making  a  large 
bouquet  entirely  of  yellow  flowers  of  different  shades  and  varie- 
ties, and  it  looked  like  a  city  milliner's  window  in  this  present 
season  of  "tilleul,"  "old  gold,"  and  "saffron:"  vivid  coreopsis, 
with  dark  velvet  centres ;  "  butter-and-eggs,"  with  spires  of  palest 
straw  color  and  orange  mingled ;  barberry  blossoms  in  drooping 
sprays,  buttercups  with  gold  enamelled  blossoms,  "yellow  daises," 
a  few  late  dandelions,  the  little  "  five-finger,"  and  some  yellow 
pond-lilies  (they  call  them  "cow-lilies"  here). 

It  was  really  dazzling,  and  made  me  think  of  some  golden  sun- 
sets I  have  seen ;  but,  as  I  was  about  to  say  so,  Uncle  Seth  re- 
marked, dryly,  that  "  them  posies  was  pooty  bilyus  lookin',"  and 
I  accepted  his  criticism.  Had  it  been  earlier  in  the  month,  Bess 
might  have  added  to  her  bouquet  the  adder's-tongue  with  droop- 
ing flowers,  and  the  delicate  bellworts  or  straw-lilies  (uvularias), 
and  later  the  golden -rod  would  have  added  its  rich  tints  and 
feathery  grace. 

The  wild  azalea,  or  honeysuckle,  is  with  us  now,  but  the  laurel 
has  not  yet  come. 

The  birds  are  more  numerous  than  ever  before,  and  tamer 
too.  A  pair  of  purple  finches  have  built  in  a  tree  just  outside  my 
window,  two  orioles  or  "fiery  hang-birds"  have  hung  their  ham- 
mock in  the  old  willow,  and  a  "  chippy  "  has  set  up  housekeep- 
ing with  his  little  brown  wife  in  the  lilac-bush  by  the  well.  My 
cow-bunting  of  last  summer  is  dead ;  but  I  have  an  indigo  bird, 
a  pretty  creature,  with  a  sweet,  silvery  song,  and  already  so  tame 
as  to  take  seed  from  my  hand. 

Cynthy  is  plump  and  rosy  and  happy.     No  shadow  rests  upon 


202  MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

her  brow,  and  I  trust  the  Boston  school-teacher,  with  the  "dark 
myst'ry  all  'roun'  him,"  lias  faded  from  her  memory.  Indeed, 
she  seems  no  longer  to  scorn  the  attentions — awkwardly  as  they 
are  paid — of  Benaje  Gladden,  a  stalwart  young  farmer  "  up  Cedar 
Mounting-  way."1  He  brought  her  a  head  of  crisp,  tender  lettuce 
the  other  day,  as  she  sat  peeling  potatoes  in  the  back  door-way. 
Tossing  it  into  her  lap,  he  said,  gruffly,  "  My  hull  gard'n  \s  run  to 
lettice  this  year.  The  pigs  '11  liev  to  eat  it  if  somebody  don't 
help  me  git  red  on  it."  And,  without  waiting  for  a  response  from 
the  pleased  and  blushing  maiden,  he  strode  away,  whistling  to 
conoal  his  agitation. 

"  Benaje  's  a  stiddy,  smart  feller,"  says  Aunt  Thusy,  "  but  he 
aint  ekal  to  his  par  at  his  age.  I  knowed  his  par,  an'  there  was 
folks  as  said  I  might  a  ben  Mis'  Sim  Gladden  without  winkin\ 
But  I  don't  tell  no  tales.  Taint  for  me  to  say  who  might  or 
mightent  a  made  up  to  me  when  a  gal.  Sim  married  Lucy 
Charl'tte  States,  a  good,  hard  workin',  helthy  gal,  if  she  warn't 
as  pooty  to  look  at  as  some  folks!"  And  the  dear  old  woman 
blushed  the  faint,  pink  blush  which  I  so  love  to  see  steal  over  her 
soft,  wrinkled  cheek. 

I  must  tell  you  of  a  ceramic  treasure  which  has  lately  come  to 
light  here.  It  is  a  cauliflower  teapot!  (See  111.  14.)  Did  you 
ever  see  one  ?  It  is  a  perfect  representation  of  that  succulent 
vegetable,  and  the  dearest,  quaintest  little  thing.  I  am  sure 
Whieldon  made  it  at  Little  Teuton.  You  know  he  was  always 
doing  such  things.  He  made  cabbage -leaf  spouts  for  teapots, 
and  crabstock  handles  for  knives,  and  pickle  leaves.  Perhaps  Jo- 
siah  Spode  had  a  hand  in  the  making  of  this  cute  little  thing,  for 
he  was  apprenticed  to  Whieldon,  as  was  also  Aaron  Wood.  I  did 
not  find  this  at  the  farm.  It  belonged  to  L'ncle  Scth's  sister, 
Miss  Drusilla  Bartlett,  known  in  the  family  as  Aunt  Dru,  and  she 
has  given  it  to  me  for  my  very  own  ! 


MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  203 

I  should  like  a  picture  of  Aunt  Dm.  She  is  a  spinster,  ta  , 
thin,  and  angular.  Her  iron-gray  hair  is  drawn  tightly  back  and 
twisted  into  a  firm,  small  knob  behind ;  her  eyes  are  small,  but 
black  and  piercing,  her  features  sharp,  and  wearing  a  look  of 
severity  and  firmness,  a  not-to-be-trifled-witb  expression  rather 
alarming  to  a  stranger.  Her  voice,  too,  is  oddly  disagreeable, 
having  a  deep  bass  tone  of  very  masculine  gruffness.  But  un- 
derneath this  rather  unprepossessing  exterior  lies  the  kindliest  of 
natures,  and  a  heart  full  of  charity  for  all  mankind. 

"  Poor  Dm !"  said  Uncle  Seth  to  me  the  other  day,  as  he  and  I 
stood  at  the  gate  together,  watching  his  sister  as  she  strode  down 
the  road,  a  tall,  ungainly  figure — "  Poor  Dm  !  her  looks  was  aller.s 
agin  her.  She  was  a  lanky,  scrawny  gal  when  I  fust  rec'lect  her, 
with  the  snappinest  eyes,  an'  the  growlinest  v'ice ;  all  the  fellers 
was  'fraid  on  her.  She  never  had  nary  beau ;  all  the  folks 
thought  she  was  a  spitfire,  an'  fought  shy  on  her.  But  our  folks 
knowed  what  she  was.  We  knowed,  if  ennythin'  went  wrong,  if 
mother  got  tuckered  out  with  work,  or  father  got  into  a  tantrum 
over  some  dido  of  we  young  'uns ;  if  us  boys  had  a  stun-bruise 
when  we  went  barefoot,  or  was  licked  by  a  bigger  feller;  we 
knowed,  ev'ry  one  on  us,  where  to  go  to  get  cossited  an'  coddled, 
an'  have  ev'rythin'  sot  right — we  went  to  Druey.  Ye'd  scurcely 
b'leve  how  soft  an'  good  her  big,  bony  fingers  'ud  feel,  a  strokin' 
a  body's  head,  an'  how  nice  an'  musicky  she  could  make  that 
growlin'  v'ice  o'  her'n  when  ther'  was  trouble  'roun'.  Why,  I've 
heern  her  say, '  Sethy,'  when  I  was  a  boy,  in  a  v'ice  like  a  croupy 
crow,  an'  I  swanny  if  it  didn't  soun'  to  me  then  like  some  angil 
or  other  a  toonin'  up  his  very  best.  But  no  one  knowed  her  but 
our  folks,  an'  she's  had  a  lonesome  life  on  it.  S'pose  they'll  see 
through  her  up  there,  Miss  Ethelburty  ?"  and  he  jerked  his  head 
up  toward  the  blue  June  sky  over  us.  "  S'pose  they'll  let  her  in, 
bones  an'  growl  an'  all,  an'  set  her  down  with  the  rest  on  'em, 


20-4  2I0BE  DAISY  FARM   LETTERS. 

siii-iii'  an'  praisin'  an'  all  that,  even — "  with  a  comical  twist  of 
his  mouth,  though  his  eyes  were  wet — "even  if  she  has.ter  sing 
bass  ?" 

But  Uncle  Seth's  step  is  heard  below,  and  I  see  from  the  win- 
dow Jason's  approaching  form.  He  has  his  red  silk  "  hanker- 
cher"  full  of  something  which  my  prophetic  soul  tells  me  is  for 
me.  Some  rare  wood  plant,  a  quaint  nest,  a  brightly  tinted  fun- 
gus, or —  I  know  not  what.  I  must  leave  my  writing  and  go 
down.  Supper  will  soon  be  on  the  table,  and  I  think — yes,  I  am 
sure,  my  senses  do  not  deceive  me — there  is  an  odor  stealing  up- 
ward from  the  kitchen  which  can  only  proceed  from  a  hot  and 
delicious  cherry  short-cake,  made  by  the  recipe  of  "  Mis'  Kernel 
Bates's  sister-in-law,  she  'twas  Nancy  Stillman." 


II. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Aunt  Thusy  when  I  read  to  her 
your  flattering  letter  of  inquiry  concerning  the  cherry  short-cake. 

She  was  mending  a  jacket  of  Iry's  when  I  began,  but  her  work 
soon  dropped  neglected  into  her  lap,  the  spool  «>f  black  thread 
rolled  away  to  be  eagerly  chased  by  the  two  kittens,  and  the 
lump  of  beeswax  fell  to  the  floor.  This  last  article  was  picked 
up  by  Bess,  who  turned  it  over  and  over,  and  looked  curiously  at 
it  while  I  read,  as  though  trying  to  make  out  a  storv  on  the  dinoy 
yellow  surface,  upon  which  the  threads  of  life  had  left  such 
strangely  crossed  and  mingled  lines.  And  a  story  it  could  tell, 
I  doubt  not,  of  wedding  garments,  funeral  shrouds,  tiny  frocks, 
roundabouts,  week-day  and  go-to-meetin'  clothes! 

"  Well,  I  never!"  said  Aunt  Thusy,  when  I  had  finished,  her 
sweet  old  face  all  aglow.  "That  does  heat  all  !  Don't  he  know 
how  ter  write  pooty?     Soun's  jest  like  a  book,  and  he  a  livin'  in 


MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  205 

the  woods  too  !  Wants  to  know  how  to  make  cherry  short-cake, 
does  he  ?  Dear,  dear,  dear !  Well,  I'll  tell  him  as  near  's  I  know 
how,  an'  you  can  write  it  out." 

Of  course  I  gladly  promised  my  services  as  amanuensis,  and  I 
now  give  for  your  benefit  and  for  all  "inquiring  friends"  the 
genuine  recipe  as  I  took  it  down  from  Aunt  Thusy's  lips. 

"  Well,  in  the  fust  place  you  pick  your  cherries,  an'  rec'lect 
they  must  be  the  Plunkit  reds.  Can't  make  cherry  short-cake 
out  o'  any  other  sort.  You  want  'bout  a  quart,  or  mebbe  two 
or  three  if  your  fam'ly  's  sizable.  Then  you  wash  'em,  an'  stem 
'em,  an'  stun  'em,  an'  put  'em  one  side  till  you've  made  your 
crust.  An'  that's  the  biggest  job  o'  the  hull.  It's  all  knack, 
that's  what  pie-crust  is.  People's  born  to  it.  There  was  Cousin 
Jabez  Pond's  wife,  she  made  pie-crust  all  her  born  days,  an'  ev'ry 
time  she  made  it  'twas  wuss  than  afore.  It  growed  heftier  an' 
douo'hyer,  an'  tougher,  an'  clammyer  to  the  day  she  died.  An' 
then  there's — well,  me,  though  mebbe  it's  not  for  me  to  say  so. 
I  made  a  batch  o'  pies  when  I  was  no  more'n  ten  year  old,  an' 
small  for  my  age  too,  an'  the  crust  was  so  light  an'  crumly  that 
mar  sent  one  to  the  minister  (ole  Mister  Cook,  you  know,  that 
preached  in  the  red  meetin'-house  'fore  it  burnt  up),  an'  I  wouldn't 
be  'shamed  o'  that  pie  now.  But  I'll  tell  you  's  near  's  I  can 
how  I  go  to  work  to  make  the  crust  for  cherry  short-cake :  I  take 
some  sweet,  good  butter.  How  much  ?  Well,  you  must  use  your 
jedgment  'bout  that;  if  you've  got  plenty  in  the  house  handy, 
you  can  take  a  bowlful,  but  if  butter  's  scurce,  why  don't  use  so 
much,  an'  put  a  little  lard  in  ;  then  I  sift  my  flour.  How  much 
o'  that?  Well,  you  must  think  a  body  don't  know  much  'bout 
cookin' !  why,  's  much  flour  as  you  want  crust;  use  your  jedgment. 
An'  you  rub  your  butter  inter  your  flour  till  it's  real  short,  an' 
then  you  git  some  water  jest  cold  from  the  well,  an'  you  wet  the 
dough  till  you  can  roll  it  out.     Then  you  flour  your  rollin'-pin 


206  MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

an'  roll.  An'  be  sure  you  roll  way  from  you,  not  up  to  you. 
There's  a  great  deal  in  allers  rollin'  way  from  you.  I  dunuo  why 
'tis,  enny  niore'n  I  know  why  thing's  allers  go  skewy  if  you  put 
on  your  left-hand  stockin'  fust,  but  that's  the  way  't  is,  you  know, 
an'  'taint  for  us  poor  creeturs  to  ask  questions  an'  be  too  curus. 
When  you've  rolled  your  dough  out  thin,  you  take  sum  more 
butter  an'  stick  leetle  dabs  of  it  all  over  the  dough,  an'  a  leetle 
mite  more  flour,  an'  then  you  roll  agin,  an'  you  keep  on  doin' 
that  way,  rollin'  kind  o'  quick  an'  hasty  an'  light  handed  till  it's 
all  right.  Then  you  take  your  brown  crock' ry  puddin' -dish, 
your  deep  one,  an'  you  line  it  with  your  crust,  then  you  put  in 
some  cherries  an'  sprinkle  sugar  on  'em.  Sakes  alive!  you  don't 
want  to  know  jest  how  much  sugar?  Well,  I  let  Cynthy  scatter 
in-  the  sweetnin',  'cause  my  hands  arc  kind  o'  sticky  an'  doughy, 
an'  I  tell  her  to  keep  puttin'  it  in  till  I  say  stop.  That's  my  rule, 
but  you  needn't  be  p'tickler.  Then  you  shake  in  some  cinny- 
mun,  jest  a  mite,  an'  a  teenty  bit  o'  cloves.  Now  you  spread  an- 
other piece  o'  crust  all  over  them  cherries,  an'  put  a  dab  o'  butter 
in  the  middle  on  it,  then  your  cherries  agin,  an'  the  sweetnin'  an' 
flavorin'  like  you  did  afore,  an'  so  on  till  your  dish  is  full.  Mow- 
cover  over  the  hull  with  crust,  stick  dabs  o'  butter  all  over  it,  trim 
the  edge  off  pooty,  an'  pinch  it  in  nice  with  your  fingers,  prick  it 
with  a  three-tined  fork,  to  let  the  cold  git  out  an'  the  heat  git  in, 
an'  there's  your  cherry  short-cake. 

"  Now  read  it  out,  deary,  for  I  want  to  be  sure  you've  made  it 
strong  about  the  I'lunkit  reds,  an'  the  brown  crock'iy  puddin'- 
dish  ;  lor,  niter  all,  them's  the  main  pints,  the  has-to-be's,  as  Gran'- 
mer  Menit  used  to  say.  An'  be  sure  you  lay  it  down  about 
rollin'  the  dough  way  from  you,  an'  not  up  to  you,  for  if  a  body 
does  that  once,  she  might's  well  gin  up  ;  her  crust  '11  be  leader 
than  had,  an'  past  chew  in'.  You  must  bake  in  a  good  hot  oven, 
an'  be  certiu  not  to  take  it  out  till  it's  done.     Then  run  to  the 


MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  2U7 

table  with  it,  an'  dish  it  out  bilin'  hot,  with  plenty  o'  cream 
poured  over  it ;  an'  if  he  don't  find  it  flav'ry  an'  wuth  eatin', 
he  aint  what  I  take  him  for.  I  on'y  hope  it  won't  stir  him  up 
same  's  it  did  me  that  night  I  et  supper  over  to  Mis'  Good'n's. 
P'raps  he  better  be  on  the  safe  side  an'  wash  it  down  with  a  dose 
o'  spearmint  tea,  hot,  with  a  leetle  sugar.  But  bless  his  dear 
heart,  to  think  o'  his  wantin'  to  send  his  love  to  me !  He's  a 
real  pooty-spoken  man,  an'  you  jest  tell  him  if  he  ever  comes  this 
way  he  must  put  up  at  Daisy  Farm :  we'll  gin  him  a  hearty  wel- 
come, an'  good  country  vittles,  an'  he  can  make  himself  to  hum." 

So  saying,  the  old  lady  resumed  her  neglected  sewing,  rescuing 
her  spool  from  the  kitties  and  her  ball  of  wax  from  Bess's  fin- 
gers, and  proceeding  to  put  on  a  very  blue  patch  on  a  very  brown 
jacket  which  was  already  "decorated  in  polychrome,"  as  the  pot- 
tery books  have  it. 

Of  course  I  looked  up  the  "  brown  crock'ry  puddin'-dish,"  and 
found  it  to  be  a  good  specimen  of  Wedgwood  cream-ware,  very 
deep  in  tint,  and  reminding  me  of  the  note  Miss  Meteyard  quotes 
as  received  by  Josiah  Wedgwood  from  an  old  housekeeper,  "  The 
yallow  pye-dyshes  aint  likes  the  last,  sur — they  are  more  yallower." 

I  have  had  a  ceramic  gift  from  Jase !  He  came  sauntering  in 
the  other  day  with  a  labored  carelessness  and  attempt  at  indiffer- 
ence, and  placing  a  large  parcel  before  me,  said : 

"  Didn't  know  but  ye  might  like  this  old  dish.  Got  a  check- 
er-board bowl  in  yer  c'lection  ?" 

I  removed  the  brown  paper  wrappings  and  found  a  pottery 
bowl,  old  Staffordshire,  decorated  in  blue  and  white  alternate 
squares.  (See  111.  15.)  "  That's  a  checker-board  bowl,"  said  Jase, 
"an'  b'longed  to  Sam  Hall'm  (wobblin'  Sam,  ye  know,  to  d'stin- 
guish  him  from  t'other  two  Sam  Hall'ins  —  Sam  peanuts,  an' 
timber-lot  Sam.  This  one's  a  little  onsartin  in  his  walk,  which 
'counts  for  the   name   o'  wobblin'  Sam).     He   says  he's  hcd  it 


208  MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

'bout  sixty  year  ;  but  I  tcll'd  him — he's  a  man  you've  got  tcr  keep 
deown,  Miss  Ethelburty,  an'  I  dew  my  duty  by  him — I  tell'd  him 
checker -boards  an'  checkers  warn't  invented  more'n  fifty  year 
ao-o,  an'  so  he  took  off  ten  year,  an'  I  bought  the  bowl." 


III. 

What  has  become  of  you,  0  lone  fisherman  ?  Why  this  omi- 
nous silence  ?  Are  your  gay,  deceitful  flies  so  beguiling,  the 
pretty,  speckled  trout  so  credulous,  your  stroke  so  sure,  your  rod 
so  reliable,  that  you  have  never  a  minute  to  spare  for  the  quiet 
inmates  of  Daisy  Farm  ?  As  for  Bess  and  me,  we  cling  eagerly 
to  the  dear  old  place  as  the  summer  closes.  It  will  be  so  hard 
to  go  away.  The  golden-rod  and  asters  are  lovely,  but  they  tell 
too  plainly  of  good-byes  soon  to  be  spoken  to  be  very  welcome. 
Bess  follows  Aunt  Thusy  like  a  kitten,  and  I  am  never  very  far 
away  from  the  precious  old  woman.  We  treasure  every  word 
that  falls  from  Uncle  Seth's  comically  twisted  mouth,  and  listen 
with  grave  interest  to  Jason's  brief  and  oracular  remarks.  And 
Cynthy — oh,  I  must  tell  you  about  Cynthy.  I  was  sitting  in  my 
room  the  other  day,  arranging  some  pressed  ferns  and  flowers, 
when  there  was  a  gentle  tap  at  my  door,  and  Cynthy  entered. 
There  was  an  unusual  air  of  constraint  and  shyness  about  the 
girl,  and  as  she  stood  beside  me  twisting  a  corner  of  her  white 
apron  in  her  plump  fingers,  her  round  face  was  like  a  "  red,  red 
rose." 

"  Well,  Cynthia  ?"  I  said,  inquiringly. 

"Well,  Miss  Ethelburty." 

Then  there  was  a  pause,  a  long  one,  and  I  began  to  feel  "  in 
my  bones  "  that  there  was  a  disclosure  coming.  Pretty  soon  it 
came. 


MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  209 

"  Miss  Etbelburty,  ye  know  Benaje  Gladd'n  ?  Well,  he  keeps 
a  askin'  an'  askin'  me  ter-ter-ter  many  kim." 

"And  what  do  you  keep  answering  ?" 

"  Well,  I  aint  give  him  a  answer  yit ;  that's  ter  say,  I  aint  said 
I  would,  an'  I  aint  said  I  wouldn't;  but — Miss  Etbelburty,  d'  ye 
rec'lect  what  I  told  ye  'bout — Mister  Oliver?" 

"Yes,  Cynthia,"  and  I  touched  her  fingers  softly,  just  to  show 
my  sympathy  with  the  old  sorrow.  She  caught  my  hand  and 
pressed  it  hard  as  she  went  on, 

"Ye  know  how  much  store  I  set  by  him,  an'  how  hard  I  took 
it  when  he  went  away — had  ter  go,  ye  know,  'cause  of  his  rank 
an'  sech.  I  felt  awful  bad  for  a  spell.  I  cried — well  I  guess  I 
cried  hand-basins'  full  o'  tears  along  o'  that  man,  an'  it  seemed  's 
if  I  never  should  git  red  o'  thinkin'  o'  those  black,  black  eyes,  an' 
his  long  hair,  his  little  hands,  an'  his  gentlemanly  clo'es.  And 
when  Benaje,  he  begun  ter  come  round,  an'  kind  o'  make  up  ter 
me,  I  was  mad  as  fire.  He  seemed  so  common  like.  His  hands 
was  big  an'  brown,  an'  his  clo'es  was  coarse,  an'  his  talk  was — 
Oh,  'twas  jest  as  different  from  hisn  as  ye  could  never  tell !  I 
could  understand  every  word  Benaje  said,  an'  there  was  lots  he 
talked  about  that  I  coulden'  make  head  or  tail  on,  coulden'  see  thru 
nohow,  sum  o'  his  speechifyin'  was  so  splendid  an'  mysteerous. 
But  Benaje  he  kep'  a  comin'  an'  comin',  an'  he  was  allers  doin' 
little  jobs  for  me,  an'.helpin'  par  an'  mar.  An'  let  me  be  as  cross 
as  two  sticks,  it  diden'  make  no  diffunce  to  him,  he  was  jest  as 
pleasant  spok'n. 

"  He'd  weed  my  posy-bed  'fore  I  was  up  in  the  mornin',  an' 
he'd  tie  up  my  mornin' -glories  an'  'sturtiums,  an'  pick  the  peas 
for  dinner.  An'  if  he  heerd  me  say  I  wanted  suthin',  he'd  git  it 
for  me  sure,  even  if  'twas  a  slip  off  o'  Mis'  Gen'ral  Stevenses' 
g'raniums  she  sets  so  much  by,  or  a  early  apple  from  the  big  tree 
at  the  P'int.     I  never  see  such  a  feller  for  gittin'  what  he  wanted. 

14 


210  MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

It  makes  me  feel  somehow  's  if  he'd  soon'r  or  later  git — me ! 
Well,  I  begun  to  git  so  used  ter  Benaje  that  I  kind  o'  missed  him 
when  he  warn't  round.  It  looked  nat'ral  to  see  him  comin'  down 
the  road,  an'  I  got  to  know  his  whis'le  from  all  the  others.  Jever 
take  notice  o'  his  whis'le,  Miss  Ethelburty  ?  It's  so  kind  o'  sweet 
an'  yit  far-goin',  an'  it's  got  a  little  shake  an'  trem'le  in  it  that  goes 
right  inter  your  heart  an'  makes  you  feel  so  queer,  kind  o'  good 
an'  yit  a  little  cryey,  like  the  brown  throshev's  singin',  ye  know. 
I'd  feel  jest  as  lonesome  when  he  stayed  away ;  an'  once  when  he 
went  over  to  Greenville  an'  diden'  come  back  for  nigh  on  to  a 
week,  I  was  that  humsick  an'  choke)7 1  coulden'  swaller  my  victuals. 

"  An'  I  got  ter  forgittin'  for  hull  days  ter  look  at  his  picter, 
an'  ter  read  his  verses,  an'  ter  dust  his  collar-box  an'  pie-plate,  an' 
I  stopped  dreamin'  about  him.  I  felt  sorry  to  do  that;  so  one 
night  I  took  his  photygraph  an'  I  looked  at  it  a  long  spell,  an' 
then  I  put  it  under  the  bolster  an'  went  ter  sleep.  I  thought  1 
should  dream  o'  him  then,  certain  sure ;  but,  if  you'll  b'leve  it,  I 
only  dreamt  that  Benaje's  ox  team  was  a  runnin'  away,  an'  I 
come  a  flyin'  out  o'  the  back-door  to  stop  it ;  an'  when  I  got  inter 
the  road  I  found  I  haden'  any  shoes  or  stockin's  on,  an'  I  was 
that  ashamed  I  hid  behind  a  laylock  bush,  an'  never  so  much  as 
said  '  whoa.' 

"An'  Benaje  he's  kep'  right  straight  on  for  more'n  six  months: 
I  never  knew  such  a  feller  for  stickin\  If  he's  asked  me  once 
he's  asked  twenty  times,  an'  ev'rv  single  time  he  puts  the  ques- 
tion he  puts  it  's  if  he  never  put  it  afore,  an'  's  if  he'd  no  idee 
but  what  I'd  say  'vis.'  So — well  the  fac'  is  I'm  about  tired  out 
resistin',  an'  it  seems  's  if  'twould  be  real  good  to  say  'vis'  once 
for  all,  an'  then  settle  down  an'  rest."  She  paused  with  a  satis- 
tied  smile  and  an  absent  look  in  her  pale-blue  eyes,  as  though  she 
saw  before  her  now  a  pleasant  home  with  Benaje,  in  which  to 
"settle  down  an'  rest." 


MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS.  211 

"And  why  do  you  not  give  him  the  answer  he  wants,  Cynthia? 
He's  a  fine,  honest,  brave  man,  and  will  make  a  good,  faithful 
husband,  I  am  sure." 

"  No  mistake  about  that,  ma'am,  he's  good  as  they  make  'em,  I 
know  that,  but — O,  Miss  Ethelburty,  s'pose  he  should  ever  come 
back  after  me  ?  S'pose  he  should  git  tired  o'  them  rich,  'risto- 
cratic  folks,  sick  o'  the  rank,  an'  power,  an'  fame,  an'  sech,  an'  he 
should  pine  for  his  'rustic  nimp,'  his  'lowly  vi'let,'  bis  '  untew- 
tered  maid '  (he  used  ter  call  me  names  like  that),  an'  he  should 
pick  up  his  things  an'  come  down  here  an'  ask  me  to  share  his 
pallice,  to  wear  ('s  he  wras  acustomed  ter  say)  '  a  curry  net  upon 
my  brow.'  Oh,  if  he  should,  if  he  should,  an'  I  to  go  an'  break 
his  heart — his  '  blasted  heart,'  he  called  it !" 

"But,  Cynthia,  do  you  wish  him  to  come?  Would  it  make 
you  very  happy  ?" 

"  Happy  !"  she  cried,  looking  almost  frightened.  "  Oh,  no,  no, 
no !  I  don't  want  ter  see  him,  never,  never  !  I  don't  wrant  a  curry 
net  on  my  forrid,  I  shoulden't  feel  ter  hum  in  a  pallice,  I  don't 
want  ter  be  called  a  nimp  an'  a  vi'let.  I'd  rather  ten  thousan' 
times  settle  down  on  the  old  Gladd'n  farm  (it's  comin'  to  Benaje, 
ye  know),  an'  make  butter  an'  cheese,  an'  take  care  o'  the  fowls. 
An'  I  don't  want  nothin'  better  in  this  world  than  to  hear  Benaje 
say,  's  he  does  sometimes,  '  You're  jest  the  boss  girl,  Cynthy ! 
You  beat  'em  all  holler.  I'd  rather  call  you  "  Mis'  Gladd'n " 
than  ter  own  all  Gen'ral  Stevenses'  medderdand,  with  his  tobaccer 
crop  throwed  inter  the  bargain.'  O  Miss  Ethelburty,  when  he 
talks  like  that,  the  water  comes  right  up  in  my  eyes,  an'  I'm  as 
proud  as  a  peacock." 

I  knew  all  I  cared  to  now,  and  Cynthy's  fluttering  heart  was 
soon  at  rest,  her  scruples  scattered.  It  was  only  the  next  day 
that  Aunt  Thusy  drew  Bess  and  me  into  the  pantry  and  told  us 
with  a  gratified  air  that  "  Cynthy  and  Benaje  Gladd'n  had  made 


212  MORE  DAISY  FARM  LETTERS. 

it  up  together,  and  she  was  right  down  glad  on  it."  Cynthy's 
face  is  like  a  peony,  her  light-yellow  lashes  droop  bashfully  over 
her  pale-blue  eyes,  but  the  broad  smile  upon  her  rather  capacious 
month  testifies  to  her  happiness.  Only  one  more  allusion  has 
she  made  to  the  buried  past,  and  to  her  high-toned  lover  "  of  no- 
bil  blud."  As  she  brought  the  lamp  to  my  room  last  evening, 
she  lingered  a  moment  to  adjust  the  wick,  and  said,  softly,  "Miss 
Ethelburty,  would  ye  jest  as  lieve  as  not  call  me  Cynthy,  like  Ben- 
aje  does?  It's  real  good  of  ye  to  put  an  ur  on,  but  it  makes  me 
think  o'  him,  an  my  Benaje  is  worth  a  hundred  sich  white,  slinky, 
stuck-up  fellers  as  that  teacher,  if  he  don't  say  *  Cynthy-ur."' 

Jason  approves  of  his  sister's  choice,  and  observed  solemnly  at 
the  tea-table  last  night,  "  Marridge  's  a  good  thing.  I  aint  noth- 
in'  ter  say  'gainst  marridge.  It's  a  sound  Americ'n  institoo- 
tion.  Benaje's  a  good,  square  feller,  an'  there's  wuss  girls  than 
Cynthy.  Maple  sirrup,  Miss  Betsey?"  Uncle  Seth  is  pleased 
too.  "I  don't  like  losin'  my  darter,"  he  said  to  me,  "but  we're 
old  folks,  ma  an'  me,  an  hadn't  orter  be  selfish.  Benaje  's  of  a 
good  stock,  though  I  used  ter  run  his  father  down,  'cause  he  was 
sweet  on  Thusy  when  she  was  a  gal.  An'  I  don't  want  Cynthy 
ter  be  a  old  maid  like  Druey.  It's  a  lonesome  life.  A  body  can 
make  it  o'  use  if  she  tries  hard,  but  it's  onnat'ral.  Makes  me 
think  o'  half  a  pair  o'  scissors.  You  can  use  it  for  sum  things, 
you  can  pick  up  the  wick  o'  yer  lamp  with  it,  or  git  out  butter- 
nut meats,  or  clean  out  yer  tobaccer  pipe  when  it's  stopped  up  ; 
it's  better  than  nothin'.  But  put  it  alongside  of  a  hull  pair  o' 
shears,  with  the  two  halves  a  workin'  together  smooth,  to  cut,  an' 
to  shape,  an'  to  trim,  an'  who'd  think  o'  swappin'  even?" 


XII. 

HUNTING  ALONG  THE  ROADS. 

Mrs.  Chase  read  one  evening  two  letters  from  a  lady  friend, 
which  went  on  file  among  the  club  papers,  because  they  described 
"  china-hunting"  in  a  correct  spirit. 


Home  at  last,  after  my  lovely  journey  !  I  cannot  begin  to  tell 
you  how  charming  it  has  been.  I  have  gone  through  the  very 
heart  of  Vermont,  and  a  peaceful,  warm,  calm  heart  it  is,  never 
throbbing  with  the  tumultuous  life  of  the  city  I  left  behind  me. 
Oh,  the  green,  green  mountains,  the  sunny  valleys,  the  clear,  crys- 
tal streams,  the  picturesque  villages  of  that  verdant  State !  I  could 
tell  you  such  a  story  of  it  all,  and  draw  such  pictures ;  but — I 
know  you  so  well,  Charlotte,  my  dear — you  would  skip  my  elab- 
orated descriptions  of  scenery,  my  most  graphic  word-pictures, 
my  wonderful  reproduction  of  charming  views,  and,  passing  all 
these  with  a  contemptuously  careless  glance,  hasten  on  to — the 
china !  So  with  but  a  sigh  over  another  "  might  have  been  "  in 
my  life — for  I  know  I  should  have  succeeded  admirably  in  the 
guide-book  line — I  will  drop  down  to  your  humble  capacity,  and 
tell  you  of  my  china  hunt. 

And  here  let  me  premise  that  Victoria  does  not  approve  of 
that  particular  kind  of  ceramic  research  in  which  you  and  I — and 
a  few  other  enthusiastic  souls — indulge.  Victoria  is  fond  of  old 
china ;  she  boasts  a  choice  collection  of  gems  ;  her  house  is  full 


214  HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS. 

of  bric-a-brac;  her  walls  are  gay  with  Delft  and  Oriental  plates; 
but — she  has  an  unfortunately  tender  conscience.  And,  ( lharlotte, 
you  know  that  however  important  at  times  a  tender  conscience 
may  be  in  this  vale  of  tears,  it  is — of  course  it  is — wholly  out  of 
place  in  the  breast  of  an  ardent,  earnest,  china  hunter!  Victoria 
gi  es,  with  well-tilled  purse,  to  the  bric-a-brac  shops  of  New  York, 
Boston,  and  Philadelphia.  She  buys  Chinese  vases,  warranted  a 
thousand  years  old,  yet  fresh  and  bright  as  any  modern  reproduc- 
tion; Dresden  with  the  Kings  period  and  Marcolini  marks,  ex- 
quisitely decorated,  and  charmingly  like  the  pretty  work  of  some 
of  the  skilful  Thuringian  imitators  :  some  of  the  Dresden  sold 
her  by  blandly  smiling  dealers  is  especially  rare,  for  experts  say 
that  the  paste  is  soft,  yet  Chaffers,  Jacquemart,  Prime,  and  other 
writers  say  that  Meissen  porcelain  was  always  hard ;  she  has  a 
lovely  plate  of  jewelled  Sevres,  genuinely  old,  of  course,  though 
its  mark  is  of  a  period  many  years  earlier  than  1780,  when,  as 
you  and  I  have — very  lately  ! — learned,  jewelled  ware  was  first 
made  at  Sevres.  But  as  for  entering  an  ancient  farm-house,  forc- 
ing one's  way  into  pantry  or  garret,  coaxing,  threatening,  wheed- 
ling, dazing  the  inmates  into  disposing  of  quaint  old  crockeries, 
which  they  don't  know  they  own  till  you  discover  them  in  pan- 
tries—why— well,  you  should  hear  her  talk  of  it ;  I  cannot  do  her 
views  justice. 

Such  being  Victoria's  opinions,  you  can  see  my  difficulties. 
For  it  was  Victoria's  comfortable  carriage  in  which  1  travelled, 
behind  Victoria's  sleek  horses  I  sat,  yea,  and  her  pampered  ^uest 
I  surely  was.  But  Victoria  is  fond  of  me,  and  so,  though  always 
protesting',  as  in  duty  bound,  she  often  waited  patiently  by  the 
hour  while  I  pursued  my  sinful  way,  and  cajoled  the  simple 
country  folk;  sometimes  she  even  deigned  to  take  an  inter- 
est in  my  "finds,"  and  to  laugh  over  my  interviews  with  the 
rustics. 


HUNTING   ALONG   THE  ROADS.  215 

It  was  in  tlie  tiny  village  of  Whitehill  (called  by  the  inhabi- 
tants "  Wite'U  ")  that  I  found  one  of  my  best  "  bits."  At  the 
quiet  tavern  where  we  spent  the  night  I  made  friends  with  a  dear 
old  woman,  the  landlord's  sister,  and  before  her  I  laid  my  cher- 
ished desires.  She  listened  patiently,  entered  warmly  into  my 
wishes,  regretted  that  her  own  pantry  held  nothing  ancient — 
"boarders  do  break  so,"  she  explained,  "and  tavern-keepin'  is  jist 
death  on  crock'ry" — and  then  ransacked  her  brain  to  remember 
what  relics  the  town  held. 

"  There's  the  Ellis  girls,"  she  said,  musingly,  "  they're  gittin' 
on  in  years,  an'  might  have  somethin' ;  Mary  'Liza's  more  'n  fifty, 
an'  Lucreshy  aint  no  chickin.  Ye  might  go  there.  Then  old 
Mis'  Joslyn  she's  a  great  ban'  for  savin'  up  ;  should'n  wonder  if 
she's  got  some  o'  her  fust  husban's  old  things,  old  Cap'n  Bates 
he  was,  a  dreadful  old  catamount,  they  say,  drinked  an'  cussed  an' 
knocked  things  'round  ;  went  off  in  a  fit  one  day,  an'  I  bet  I  knoAv 
where  he's  boardin'  now  !  His  widder  she  took  on  jist  's  though 
she  cared,  but  bimeby  she  chirked  up  an'  married  Deac'n  Joslyn, 
the  softest,  slickest,  easiest-goin'  man  in  all  Wite'U.  You  go 
there,  an'  tell  her  I  sent  ye ;  the  fust  house  b'low  the  store,  gate 
off  the  hinges,  an'  button-wood  tree  in  front.  Then  you  might 
try  Susan  Camp  ;  she's  poor,  an'  if  she's  got  anything  she'll  sell  it. 
And  there  !  what  on  airth  was  I  thinkin'  on !  why  I  know  jist  the 
place  to  go  to.  Well,  I  am  smart !  Why,  I've  seen  it  myself, 
I  guess  ev'rybody  in  town  's  seen  it.  Jist  to  think  of  my  for- 
gettin'  that !  well  I  do  b'leve  I'm  agein'.  Why,  there's  a  dish  up 
to  Mis'  Gould's — north  end,  you  know — that's  ev'ry  bit  a  hun- 
dred year  old  ;  two  hundred,  fortino." 

I  eagerly  made  further  inquiries,  and  drew  out  the  additional 
information  that  it  was  a  "  meat-dish,"  that  it  was  "  hull,"  that  it 
was  "'bout  's  big  as  a  cheese,"  and  that  it  had  "posies  an'  all 
kin's   o'   scriggles   on   it."     So  to  "  Mis'  Gould's,  north  end,"  I 


21 G  HUNTING  ALONG  THE  EO ADS. 

wended  my  solitary  way,  leaving  Victoria  by  the  cheerful  wood 
fire  in  the  tavern  parlor. 

It  was  a  small  brown  bouse,  with  a  blacksmith's  shop  at  its 
side.  I  knocked,  and  the  door  was  promptly  opened  by  a  mild, 
gentle,  timid- looking  woman.  I  unfolded  my  errand  and  was 
most  kindly  received.  "  Walk  right  in,  deary  ;  set  down,  don't  be 
afraid.  Want  to  see  my  old  dish?  Yes,  yes,  yes,  so  you  shall. 
I'll  git  it,  deary ;  you  shall  see  it,  yes,  yes.  Heerd  o'  my  old 
meat-dish,  did  ye?  Mis'  Hart  telled  ye — nice  woman,  aint  she? 
Be  ye  cold?  Jest  set  up  to  the  fire,  an'  I'll  git  the  dish,  deary. " 
So  she  purred  on,  like  a  comfortable  old  pussy-cat,  while  she 
brought  me  a  chair,  put  another  stick  on  the  fire,  took  off  a  very 
ragged  apron,  and  smoothed  down  her  calico  dress.  Then  open- 
ing the  door  of  a  small  cupboard,  she  took  from  an  upper  shelf 
the  famous  "meat-dish."  (See  111.  18.)  It  proved  to  be  a  very 
handsome  old  Delft  plate,  some  fifteen  inches  in  diameter,  and 
gay  with  flowers  in  red,  yellow,  and  blue.  Of  course  I  wanted  it, 
and  soon  let  the  owner  know  that  I  did. 

"  Sell  it  to  ye  ?"  she  gently  purred ;  "  well  I  d'no,  deary  ;  don't 
like  ter  dis'pint  ye,  don't  care  no  great  for  the  dish  myself,  but 
I  d'no's  Rufy'd  like  it.  Better  ask  him,  hadn't  I,  don't  ye 
think?" 

"Your  husband?"  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  no  !  he  don't  trouble  hisself,  it's  my  boy,  liufy.  He's  all 
the  boy  I  got,  an'  he's  a  good  boy.  Guess  I  better  ask  him." 
So,  going  to  the  door,  she  called  in  softest  accents,  "  liufy,  liufy, 
dear,  ma  wants  ye  a  minnit." 

Expecting  to  see  a  prattling  child  respond  to  these  tender 
words,  I  was  astounded  at  the  sight  of  a  stalwart  youth,  full  six 
feet  high,  who,  fresh  from  the  forge,  as  his  smoke-stained  face 
and  sooty  hands  showed,  came  awkwardly  and  bashfully  into  the 
room. 


HUNTING  ALONG   THE  110 ADS.  217 

"  This  is  my  Rufy,  ma'am.     Speak  to  the  lady,  Rufy." 

Rufy  acknowledged  my  friendly  greeting  with  a  sulky  nod, 
and  seating  himself  in  a  chair,  tilted  it  up  on  two  legs  against  the 
wall,  and  awaited  further  developments. 

"  This  lady  wants  ma's  old  platter,  Rufy  ;  she  likes  old  crock' ry 
an'  things,  an'  she's  willin'  to  pay  for  'em ;  ye  don't  mind  lettin' 
it  go,  do  ye,  Rufy  ?" 

Rufy  looked  sullenly  on  the  floor,  kicked  his  heels  against  the 
chair  legs,  and  muttered,  "  I  aint  got  nothin'  to  say ;  I  never  do 
have  nothin'  to  say  in  this  'ere  house.  Nobody  minds  me.  Sell 
yer  old  plate  'f  ye  want  ter ;  don't  put  yerself  out  for  me" 

"  Why,  Rufy,  boy,"  said  his  mother  in  gentle  reproach,  "  don't 
talk  that-a-way!  ma  wouldn't  go  agin  yer  feelin's  for  nothin'. 
Don't  ye  want  to  let  the  old  dish  go  ?  I  never  knowed  ye  sot 
by  it.  It's  ben  up  on  that  shelf,  an'  never  ben  dusted,  for  two 
year  or  more.     Do  ye  want  it,  Rufy  ?" 

"What's  the  use  o'  askin'  me,"  growled  the  big  boy,  " jist 
'cause  comp'ny's  here?  Ye  never  let  me  have  my  own  way 
when  ther'  aint  nobody  by.  Course  ye'll  sell  the  old  thing  if  ye 
want  ter.  But — well — I  don't  mind  sayin'  I  might  want  it  my- 
self 'fore  long." 

"Ah,"  I  cried,  in  my  sweetest  tones,  and  in  what  I  intended 
for  an  arch  manner,  "  you  are  thinking  of  a  house  of  your  own, 
Mr.  Gould,  and  a  somebody  who  will  care  for  the  old  plate  be- 
cause it  belonged  to  your  ancestors.  Isn't  that  so  ?"  Rufy's 
face  reddened ;  he  turned  his  head  bashfully  away,  and  tried  to 
look  displeased,  but  a  grin  would  come  as  he  mumbled : 

"I  don't  say  'taint  so,  I  don't  say  'tis.  I  don't  name  no  names, 
an'  it's  nothin'  to  nobody ;  but  I  can  think  of  cucc'mstances 
when  I  might  wish  I'd  a  kep'  the  old  plate." 

"  Then,  really,  Mrs.  Gould,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  not  say  another 
word.     I  would  not  for  worlds  interfere  with  Mr.  Ruf us's  plans ; 


218  HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS. 

let  him  keep  the  old  relic  for  the  little  wife ;"  and  I  beamed 
upon  the  sulky  youth. 

"I  didn't  say  nothin'  'bout  a — a — wife,"  and  he  stammered 
over  the  suggestive  word,  while  his  face  was  scarlet,  and  his  smile 
— mild  word  for  that  wide-mouthed  contortion — more  intensified. 
"Beg  yer  pard'n,  ma'am,  I  don't  want  the  darned  old  thing. 
She — I  mean  oobody  wants  it.  Yer  welcome  to  it  'f  ma  wants 
ter  sell  it.  Guess  she'd  ruther  have  the  money  than  that  old- 
fash'ned  thing-.  I  like  new  things  myself,  an'  I  know  other  folks 
that  does,  too." 

So  the  bargain  was  struck;  and  as  I  held  the  dish  and  looked 
at  its  quaint  decoration,  Mrs.  Gould  kept  on  her  soothing,  ram- 
bling talk :  "  Ye  was  savin'  how  it  b'longed  to  Rufy's  aunt's  sis- 
ters. "Well,  it  didn't.  It  cum  from  the  Arnolds.  'Taint  no  wu>s 
for  that,  I  s'pose,  even  if  they  was  Ben's  folks.  They  warn't  ter 
blame,  ye  know,  an'  Ben  he  went  on  his  own  hook.  He  warn't  very 
high-minded,  warn't  Ben  ;  but  some  folks  is  that  way,  ye  know." 

"Are  you  speaking  of  some  Whitehill  man?"  I  asked,  doubt- 
fully. 

"I  was  talkin'  'bout  Ben  Arnold.  Heerd  on  him,  aint  ye? 
Kind  o'  oncertin  feller ;  lived  in  war-times." 

"Why,  you  surely  do  not  mean  Benedict  Arnold!"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"Yes,  that's  his  given  name.  lie  come  from  down  this  way, 
an'  some  o'  his  folks  used  to  live  here.  I  s'pose  ye've  heerd  peo- 
ple talk  agin  him.  I  have  myself,  but  then  I  never  b'leve  half  I 
hear  'bout  folks,  an'  I  guess  there's  as  bad  men  goin'  round  loose 
now  as  ever  Benny  Arnold  was.  Any  way,  I  guess  he  never  eat 
off  that  plate ;  an'  if  he  did,  it's  ben  washed  sence." 

As  I  left  the  house  with  my  precious  purchase,  Ilufy  joined  me. 
"Where's  it  goin'?"  he  asked,  jerking  both  head  and  thumb  to- 
ward the  "  meat-dish  "  as  he  spoke. 


HUNTING  ALONG  THE  ROADS.  219 

"  To  New  York,"  I  answered,  "  where  I  shall  hang  it  upon  the 
wall  of  my  room,  and  so  be  often  reminded  of  pleasant  Whitehill 
and  my  visit  here." 

"  Well,"  said  the  cautious  Rufus,  "  I  don't  name  no  names,  an' 
it's  nothin'  to  nobody ;  but  I  can  think  o'  cucc'mstances  when  I 
might  go  to  York  'fore  long — not  'xactly  alone  neither.  An'  if  I 
do,  darned  if  we  don't  come  ter  see  ye  an'  take  a  squint  at  the 
old  platter." 

I  hastened  to  assure  him  of  the  pleasure  such  a  visit  would 
give  me ;  and  so  I  passed  away  from  the  little  brown  house,  the 
smithy,  and  the  cooing  old  lady.  Dear  old  body  !  To  think  of  a 
creature  so  kindly  that  she  called  the  archtraitor  Arnold  Benny, 
and  found  no  harsher  term  for  his  very  questionable  conduct  than 
"kind  o'  oncertin  !" 

I  found  nothing  else  in  Whitehill.  I  sought  Mis'  Joslyn,  but 
only  received  the  aggravating  information  that  she  "  did  have  a 
old  mug  Cap'n  Bates  used  ter  take  his  rum-an'-water  out  on — 
awful  queer  old  thing,  with  picturs  an'  verses ;  but  Mister  Joslyn 
(my  last),"  she  added,  parenthetically,  "  broke  it  shavin',  an'  the 
pieces  was  tlirowed  away." 

I  visited  poor  Susan  Camp,  but  she  had  nothing  but  a  broken 
teapot,  of  pink-printed  pottery.  Then  I  called  upon  the  "Ellis 
girls,"  but  found  the  ancient  maidens  what  Gordon,  that  inde- 
fatigable china  hunter,  calls  "  too  high-toned."  Their  father  had 
been  Judge  Ellis ;  they  were  educated  in  Boston,  and  a  faint  flavor 
of  the  Hub  still  lingered  around  them.  But  the  "better  days" 
which  they  had  seen  were  long  gone  by,  and  they  had  a  pinched, 
poor  look,  under  all  their  dignity  of  manner.  Did  they  quite  un- 
derstand me  ?  Was  I  indeed  asking  them  to  part  with  their  fam- 
ily relics,  their  souvenirs  of  the  past,  their  heirlooms,  so  to  speak, 
and  for  money  !  They  had  read  in  the  journals  of  the  day  that 
the  present  growing  interest  in  ceramic  art  had  led  its  votaries 


220  HUNTING  ALONG   THE  KOADS. 

into  strange  liberties;  tlicy  regretted  it.  "No,  madam,  never 
while  life  lasts  shall  we  part  with  our  few  poor  but  precious 
pieces  of  mamma's  old  egg-shell  tea-set,  our  venerated  papa's 
punch-bowl,  or  our  lamented  Aunt  Maria's  Wedgwood  plates. 
Good-morning,  madam."  And  I  came  away,  trying  to  soothe  my 
lacerated  feelings  by  muttering  to  myself,  "Hateful  old  maids! 
I  don't  believe  they  possess  as  much  as  a  potsherd  of  anything 
old.  I  have  no  faith  in  '  papa's  punch-bowl,'  and  the  lamented 
Aunt  Maria  and  her  Wedgwood  plates  are  myths."  But — 0 
Charlotte,  I  was  glad  that  Victoria  did  not  hear  the  dignified  re- 
sponse of  the  Ellis  girls ! 

In  driving  from  Shelton  to  Riverbank,  a  distance  of  some 
twenty  miles,  we  were  a  little  uncertain  as  to  the  route,  and  fre- 
quently stopped  to  make  inquiries.  Passing  at  length  through  a 
picturesque  little  village,  we  drew  up  before  a  long,  low,  brown 
house,  evidently  the  tavern.  A  tall,  lank  man  lounged  toward 
us  —  the  New  England  landlord  always  endeavors  to  impress 
upon  new-comers  his  utter  indifference  as  to  their  patronage — 
and  Victoria  addressed  to  him  a  few  questions.  His  replies  were 
lazily  but  good-naturedly  made,  and  were  to  this  effect :  This 
was  Greenridge  village ;  it  was  about  eight  miles  to  Riverbank, 
and  a  straight  road.  (Here  let  me  say  that,  in  the  New  England 
vernacular,  a  "straight  road"  is  the  road  with  which  the  speaker 
is  familiar,  which  he  is  accustomed  to  follow,  howe'er  so  crooked 
it  may  be,  and  though  its  twists  and  turns  are  numerous  and  per- 
plexing. This  we  learned  through  bitter  experience.)  Why  it 
was  called  Greenridge  he  didn't  rightly  know;  it  warn't  on  a 
ridge,  and  it  warn't  partiklerly  green,  not  as  he  knew  on.  No, 
there  warn't  no  tavern  between  here  and  Riverbank. 

Then  came  his  turn  to  question.  Where  did  we  hail  from? 
Had  we  got  biisine.-s  in  Riverbank?  Mebbe  we  was  gohf  l<> 
Square  Raymond's,  or  agin  we  might  be  somethin'  to  Judge  Mer- 


HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS.  221 

rit's  folks,  they  come  from  York  way,  etc.,  etc.  Being  satisfied 
on  these  points,  Mr.  Gates — we  learned  his  name  from  the  sign 
over  the  door  —  looked  at  the  horses,  felt  their  mouths,  patted 
their  sides,  and  talked  a  little  of  their  weight,  height,  and  value 
with  Jacob,  the  coachman.  True  to  our  glorious  cause,  I  ventured 
to  remark,  "  What  a  nice  old  house  this  is.  There  must  be  many 
ancient  things  in  it." 

"  Wall,  not  much  o'  any  account ;  ye  see  it's  changed  hands 
good  deal,  an'  the  old  things  is  broke  or  lost.  I've  got  a  old  an- 
cient relict,  if  ye  like  that  sort ;"  and,  fumbling  in  his  pocket,  he 
produced  a  dingy  coin.  "  Thar,  I  dug  that  up  back  o'  the  house 
t'other  day.  It's  more  'n  five  hundred  year  old;  's  got  the  fig- 
gers  ye  see,  1305."  I  took  the  piece,  and  found  it  to  be  a  Span- 
ish pistareen  of  1805. 

While  I  held  it  in  my  hand  there  appeared  upon  the  scene  a 
new  character.  How  I  wish  I  could  do  him  justice  by  any  de- 
scription. A  thin,  spare,  wiry  man  of  some  sixty  years,  with 
sharp  features,  keen  blue  eyes,  and  thin  lips  working  and  twitch- 
ing as  though  a  hundred  questions  were  at  once  crowding  their 
way  out ;  a  typical  "  brother  Jonathan,"  the  very  personification 
of  eager  inquisitiveness.  And  yet  his  face  was  a  kindly  one,  and 
I  liked  it  at  once.  "  Old  piece  o'  money,  hey,"  said  he,  putting 
his  head  directly  between  Mr.  Gates  and  me,  and  peering  at  the 
coin.  "  I  had  a  hull  bagful  once ;  guess  I  could  find  'em  now,  if 
ye're  lookin'  for  such  things." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  "we  are  not  particularly  interested  in 
coins ;  but  if  you  knew  of  any  old-fashioned  crockery — " 

"  Crockery  ?  ye  don't  say  !  Lookin'  for  old  dishes  an'  things, 
air  ye  ?     What  might  ye  be  agoin'  to  do  with  'em  ?" 

I  made  a  brief  explanation. 

"  Ye  don't  tell  me  so  !  Wall,  wall,  that  beats  me  !  Neow,  'f 
you  wos  goin'  to  put  up  here  fur  a  spell,  I  d'no  but  I  could  nose 


222  IIVXTING  ALONG    THE  ROADS. 

aroun'  an'  fin'  suthin'  for  ye.  Lookin'  for  old  dishes  an'  things, 
air  ye  '.     Wall,  1  am  beat  !" 

"If  I  thought  you  could  find  anything  of  interest,"  1  said, 
eagerly,  after  a  whispered  colloquy  with  Victoria,  "1  would  stay 
a  little  while,  and  go  on  later  in  the  day." 

"  Wall,  I  don't  mind  'f  I  try.  Wos  just  spee'latin'  whether  I'd 
go  to  work  to-day  or  not ;  don't  feel  'xactly  up  to  laborin' ;  guess 
'twould  do  me  good  to  laze  round  a  little;  alters  glad  to  help 
folks,  particular  wimmin  folks.  Mind  ter  git  out?  I'll  take  ye 
over  to  Sister  Lanes's  fust." 

Did  you  ever  read  Mrs.  Stowe's  "  Oldtown  Stories,"  and  do 
you  remember  Sam  Lawson  ?  Well,  this  was  Sam  himself.  I 
am  sure  of  it.  1  could  scarcely  refrain  from  addressing  him  as 
"  Mr.  Lawson ;"  and  when  he  said,  with  a  half-frightened  glance 
toward  a  certain  small  red  house,  that  there  was  "  no  kind  o'  use 
in  goin'  thare,  my  wife  haint  got  nothin'  to  spare,"  I  looked  up 
at  the  window  for  Heps}7,  and  listened  for  her  sharp,  complain- 
ing tones.  To  "Sister  Lanes's"  we  went,  my  guide  (his  name 
was  M'Kay,  as  he  at  once  informed  me,  and  all  the  neighbors 
called  him  Billy  M'Kay)  telling  me  as  we  went  that  Mis'  Lane 
was  a  poor  needy  widder,  an'  he  hoped  she'd  got  suthin'  I  wanted. 
She  proved  to  be  a  shy,  nervous  body,  and  very  deaf;  and  when 
her  brother  rushed  in  upon  her,  accompanied  by  a  stranger,  and 
sh< iiited  into  her  ear  that  we  wanted  "all  her  croek'ry  dishes 
right  off,"  she  looked  dazed  and  frightened.  I  managed  to 
make  her  understand  matters,  and  she  brought  down  from  her 
pantry  shelves  two  or  three  "old  ancient"  pieces  of  earthen-ware, 
which  I  purchased  for  more  than  their  value,  Billy  M'Kay  all  the 
time  shouting  at  her  that  he'd  told  me  she  was  a  poor  needy  wid- 
der, "An'  you  air,  Susan,  you  know  you  air." 

We  went  from  house  to  house  through  the  village,  Billy  enter- 
ing so  thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  that  he  actually 


HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS.  223 

skipped  with  delight  when  some  new  treasure  was  unearthed,  his 
shambling  antics  sending  me  off  into  fits  of  laughter,  which  he 
never  resented.  He  would  run  into  a  house,  actually  dragging 
me  after  him,  throw  open  closets  with  scarcely  a  word  of  expla- 
nation, pull  down  dishes,  and  pile  them  up  around  me ;  and  when 
he  saw  that  I  was  pleased  with  some  of  his  treasure  -  trove,  he 
would  take  me  by  one  shoulder,  give  me  a  gentle  shove,  and  say, 
with  a  chuckling  laugh,  "  01),  you  old  thing !"  That  perform- 
ance he  went  through  at  least  twenty  times.  I  picked  up  some 
very  nice  bits,  some  New  Hall  porcelain,  with  bright,  gay  flowers, 
some  dark-blue  English  plates  with  American  subjects,  a  teapot 
of  Bristol  pottery,  hexagonal,  with  swan  upon  the  lid  (see  111.  17), 
and  a  Davenport  plate  of  pottery,  the  edge  blue,  and  centre  deco- 
rated with  black  print,  representing  Commodore  Perry  with  tro- 
phies, etc.,  etc.     (See  111.  19.) 

As  I  glance  back  over  what  I  have  written,  I  feel  that  I  have 
given  you  no  sort  of  idea  of  Billy  M'Kay.  If  I  could  only  pict- 
ure him  just  as  he  was.  But  you  would  think  I  was  drawing  a 
caricature.  His  clothes  were  a  marvel  of  patching  and  matching, 
his  shoes  all  holes,  his  gait  an  awkward  trot,  indescribably  funny, 
and  his  talk — which  flowed  steadily  on  all  day — inimitable. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  I  didn't  go  to  work  to-day  !"  he  kept  saying. 
"  Somehow  I  felt  's  if  suthin'  was  in  the  air ;  I  didn't  seem  to 
hanker  arter  labor  a  mite  this  mornin'.  Oh,  aint  I  glad !"  Then 
an  ambling  skip,  a  chuckle,  and  I  was  gently  pushed,  with  the  old 
refrain,  "  Oh-h-h,  you  old  thing  !"  He  asked  me  a  hundred  ques- 
tions, very  personal  ones  too.  Was  I  married  1  Then,  mebbe 
I  might  be  single  ?  Where  did  I  live  ?  Was  my  folks  livin'  ? 
Was  I  pretty  well-to-do  ?  Was  the  other  woman  single,  or  meb- 
be a  widder  ?  Was  the  team  ourn  ?  And,  above  all,  what  were 
our  names?  This  latter  query  I  answered  many  times,  and  at 
last  took  a  card  with  my  address  from  my  case  and  gave  it  to 


224  HUNTING  ALOSG   TUB  ROADS. 

him.  T  am  in  mourning,  you  know,  and  my  cards  arc  bordered 
with  black.  This  was  a  source  of  much  wonder  and  admiration. 
"Had  it  framed,  aint  ye  ?"  he  said.  "  Wall,  if  that  aint  pooty  P 
He  wrapped  it  in  paper  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  declaring  that 
it  should  bang  up  in  his  own  parlor. 

We  returned  at  last  to  the  tavern,  where  Victoria  had  passed 
the  weary  hours,  and  I  packed  my  new  possessions  carefully  away 
in  large  baskets. 

Billy  accepted,  under  protest,  a  remunerative  fee  for  his  ser- 
vices, saying  that  be  wouldn't  take  it  for  notbin',  only  mebbe 
'twould  smooth  his  wife  down  if  she  was  put  out  'bout  bis  leavin' 
bis  work  all  day.  Soon  we  were  all  in  the  carriage,  our  baskets 
safely  arranged,  and  ourselves  ready  for  a  start.  We  bad  shaken 
hands  with  Billy,  and  said  warm  good-bye  words.  Jacob,  Victo- 
ria's extremely  proper  coachman,  sat  waiting  our  orders  to  drive 
on,  his  face  wearing  its  usual  composed  expression  as  be  look- 
ed straight  before  him.  Suddenly  Billy  M'Kay's  sharp,  twangy 
voice  was  heard,  and  his  long,  lean  arm  was  extended  toward  the 
unconscious  Jehu. 

"Mister!"  Xo  response.  "Jedge!"  No  answer.  " KemulP 
Silence,  save  for  our  smothered  laughter.     "  Gin'rul  !  !" 

Jacob  turned  bis  bead  slowly,  as  might  one  of  Mrs.  Jarley's 
"figgers;"  Billy  seized  bis  resisting  band,  shook  it  heartily,  said 
"Good-bye,  old  feller!"  then,  with  a  touch  on  my  arm,  a  last 
"  Oh,  you  old  thing !"  he  turned  away. 

Oh,  Billy  M'Kay,  Billy  M'Kay,  I  shall  never  forget  you,  never 
cease  to  try  vainly,  hopelessly,  to  paint  you  to  my  friends. 


HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS.  225 


II. 


I  am  glad  that  you  enjoyed  my  account  of  ceramic  adventures, 
and  gladly  relate  a  few  more.  I  think  I  did  not  tell  you  of  the 
young  man  at  Ferryville  who  described  so  graphically  a  fictile 
relic.  We  had  stopped  for  luncheon,  and  to  rest  the  horses,  at  a 
small,  dingy  tavern.  I  was  sitting  upon  the  piazza,  after  a  miser- 
able meal  of  fried  salt-pork  swimming  in  grease,  hard-boiled  po- 
tatoes, and  dried-apple-pie,  when  a  rustic  youth  approached  me. 
He  was  an  awkward,  tall,  lanky  young  man,  and  seemed  at  first 
too  frightened  and  bashful  to  speak ;  but  as  I  beamed  upon  him 
with  an  encouraging  smile,  he  at  last  stammered  out,  "  Heerd  ye 
talkin'  at  dinner  'bout  crock'ry  an'  old  chiney-ware." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  at  once  interested,  "  I  am  collecting  such 
things;  do  you  know  of  anything  of  the  kind?" 

"Wall,"  drawled  the  youth,  "  I  don't  know  as  I  do,  jest  round 
here ;  but  down  Kingstun  way,  'bout  ten  miles  back  the  road  ye 
come,  there's  suthin'  queer  enough  to  suit  anybody.  Queer ! 
Wall,  you  better  b'leve  it's  the  queerest,  curusest  thing  y'ever  see 
in  all  your  born  days." 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  Tasked  eagerly;  "a  piece  of  old  china?" 

"  Old  chiney  !  You  bet !  Old  chiney  !  why  it's  the  oldest, 
chineyest  thing  this  side  o'  kingdom  come.  I  never  see  it's 
beater,  never  'xpect  to  in  this  world,  I  tell  you !"  and  off  he 
went  into  fits  of  laughter,  in  which  I  found  it  impossible  to  help 
joining,  although  I  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what  the  joke  was. 

"  But  what  was  this  china?"  I  asked,  as  soon  as  I  could  speak ; 
"  was  it  a  plate,  or  a  pitcher,  or  what  ?" 

"Plate — pitcher?  I  rather  guess  not.  'Twas  a  creamer — least 
they  said  it  was ;  but  of  all  the  darndest,  curusest,  out-an-outest 
lookin'  things  /  ever  see !  I  was  takin'  supper  there  one  night, 
an'  I  was  real  hungry  when  I  set  down,  but  they  fetched  in  that 

15 


226  HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS. 

creamer,  an'  I  garry!  I  never  eat  no  more  that  meal.  Couldn't 
swoller  a  darned  thing,  I  laffed  so.     1  thought  I'd  bust." 

"But  what  was  there  about  it  so  singular.'"  I  ventured  to 
ask. 

"What  was  there 'bout  it  singular?  Why,  cverythin'.  There 
warn't  nothin'  'bout  it  t'warn't  singular.  'Twas  jest  the  singu- 
larest  thing  y'ever  see  in  yer  life." 

"  And  very  old  ?" 

"  Old  !  It  was  the  blastcdest,  thund'rinest  old  thing.  Jerusa- 
lem !  I  never  see  a  piece  o'  crock'ry  so  allfired,  rippin',  bustin' 
old  as  that  thing ;  seems  's  if  I  shall  go  off  when  I  think  on  it." 
And  again  he  shook  with  laughter,  and  leaned  for  support  against 
the  side  of  the  house. 

"Was  it  china  or  pottery?"  I  mildly  inquired,  vainly  hoping 
to  draw  some  information  from  this  aggravating  youth. 

"Both  on'  em,  both ;  an'  everythin'  else  ye  ever  heerd  on.  Why, 
I  tell  you,  Miss,  I've  seen  a  good  deal  in  my  day,  but — true  as  I 
live  an'  breathe,  hope  1  may  die  'f  I  aint  telliu'  you  the  truth — I 
never  see  sech  a  darned,  blasted,  thund'rin',  smashin',  curus  old 
thing  this  side  o'  Jord'n.  Oh,  I  shell  give  up  !  Old  chiney  !  well, 
1  don't  want  to  see  no  more  old  chiney.  I've  seed  enough  for 
one  man."     And  so  he  went  on. 

Will  you  believe  me,  Charlotte  Elliot  Chase,  wdien  I  tell  you 
that  you  know  just  as  much  now  about  that  ancient  creamer  as 
I  do?  With  all  my  questions,  with  all  his  flood  of  replies,  his 
glowing  adjectives — some  of  them  far  more  intense  and  profane 
than  I  dare  introduce  into  this  epistle — I  absolutely  learned  noth- 
ing. Although  I  gathered  that  the  relic  was  the  "  curusest,  out- 
landishest,  sing'lerest,  darndest,  hifalutinest,  blastedest"  ceramic 
ever  seen,  I  did  not  learn  if  it  was  pottery  or  porcelain,  hard  or 
sofl  i>a-te,  decorated  or  undecorated,  marked  or  unmarked.  Am! 
to  this  day  I  indulge  in  the  wildest  imaginings  concerning  this 


27.  Wedgwood  Plate:  page  244. 

[Cream-ware  :  border  aud  decorations  in  blue  and  gold  :  impressed  mark.] 


28.  Tea-Caddt:  page  251. 

[Porcelain  :  decoration,  flowers  in  colors  :  mark,  a  shield  :  Vienna.] 


HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS.  229 

antique  creamer,  which  had  power  so  to  stir  the  placid  breast  of 
my  rustic  swain  of  Ferryville. 

At  Millbridge  I  found  a  Jackfield  teapot,  something  which  I 
have  long  desired  to  possess.  You  remember  Dr.  Hall's,  do  you 
not  ?  It  is  of  that  highly  glazed,  glassy-looking  black  ware  which, 
we  read,  was  called  locally  at  the  time  of  its  manufacture  "  black 
decanter."  My  specimen  is  so  quaint  and  pretty,  with  its  elabo- 
rate raised  ornamentation,  that  I  have  had  it  mounted  in  silver 
for  my  collection.  (See  111.  16.)  I  am  particularly  interested  in 
this  ware  because  I  have  lately  read  that  Maurice  Thursfield,  its 
manufacturer,  came  to  America  in  the  latter  part  of  the  18th 
century,  and  died  here.  I  have  no  doubt  he  lived  in  Millbridge, 
and  that  my  teapot  was  his  own  little  "black  decanter,"  brought 
over  as  a  souvenir  of  his  native  Shropshire. 

Here,  too,  I  found  some  good  dark-blue  printed  plates,  marked 
Stubbs  <&  Kent,  Longport.  I  do  not  find  the  name  of  this  firm 
in  any  of  my  text-books.  I  have  also  seen  several  Clews  marks 
which  are  new  to  me.  One,  especially,  has  over  the  Clews  War- 
ranted Staffordshire  in  a  circle,  a  crown  with  G.  R.  Davenport 
ware  often  turns  up,  generally  pottery,  sometimes  very  prettily 
decorated,  and  occasionally  bits  of  his  porcelain.  The  latter  is 
often  as  beautiful  as  Chelsea  or  Derby,  and  almost  always  has  in 
its  border  decoration  a  peculiar  pale  yellow  mingled  with  a  rich 
dark-blue.  I  found  several  marked  pieces  of  New  Hall  porce- 
lain, though  I  see  that  English  writers  speak  of  such  specimens 
as  rare. 

At  Galesville  I  found  a  Chinese  plate  with  odd  and  pretty  dec- 
oration. (See  111.  20.)  There  is  a  delightful  crab  upon  it,  and 
another  marine  creature — a  shrimp,  I  think — with  protruding  eyes 
and  a  lovely  smile.  The  colors  are  red,  and  rich  dark  blue,  with 
some  touches  of  gold.  The  woman  of  whom  I  bought  it  said 
that  it  had  been  in  her  family  two  hundred  years  (I  have  found 


230  HUNTING  ALONG  THE  ROADS. 

few  specimens  which  had  been  a  briefer  season  than  this  in  the 
owners'  possession!),  and  that  it  was  brought  from  "  Injy  "  by 
her  husband's  great,  great,  etc.  (I  forget  how  many  greats)  grand- 
father, Eben  Wilcox,  who  "  follered  the  sea."  From  a  picture  of 
Eben,  I  should  judge  that  neither  the  sea  nor  any  other  created 
thing  would  ever  have  "follered"  him ;  for  a  more  cantankerous- 
looking  old  fellow  I  never  saw. 

" Hard-f eetur'd,  aint  he?"  said  the  wife  of  his  great,  great,  etc., 
grandson  ;  "  all  the  Wilcoxes  is,  you  know.  Pm  a  Hewitt  my- 
self; you've  heerd  of  the  Reedstown  Hewitts  —  the  'handsome 
Hewitts,'  some  call  'em,  but  I  never  speak  on  'em  that  way. 
Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,  I  say.  I  try  to  do  my  duty,  an' 
take  care  o'  myself,  an'  treat  my  fellow-bein's  fair  an'  honest,  an' 
don't  never  worry  'bout  my  looks.  Can't  you  give  me  a  quarter 
more  for  that  plate?  I  know  old  Cap'n  Eben  —  if  he's  lookin' 
down  at  us — thinks  I  aint  askin'  enough  for  what  he  rested  his 
life  for  on  the  great  waters,  '  reelin'  to  and  fro  like  a  drunken 
man,'  the  Bible  says,  you  know."  I  paid  the  "  quarter  more  "  to 
soothe  "  Cap'n  Eben's  "  troubled  spirit,  and  bore  away  the  plate 
in  triumph. 

Such  queer  questions  were  asked  me  about  the  object  of  my  re- 
searches !  Several  persons  inquired  if  I  melted  up  the  old  chiney 
to  make  new.  One  woman  appeared  so  interested  in  me  and  my 
collecting  that  I  exerted  myself  to  reply  at  length  to  her  ques- 
tions as  to  what  I  was  going  to  do  with  these  old  things.  After 
explaining  the  matter  most  fully,  I  was  rewarded  by  an  incredu- 
lous sniff  from  the  unbeliever,  and  the  remark  "That  means  't 
aint  none  o'  my  bisness.     Well,  keep  it  to  yerself  then." 

And  how  many  things  were  offered  for  my  inspection,  entirely 
devoid  of  interest  or  value !  How  weary  I  grew  of  old  samplers, 
faded  paintings  on  silk  or  satin,  ancient  embroidery,  coarse  and 
without  beauty,  powder-horns,  feather  flowers,  coins,  high-heeled 


HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS.  L>:31 

slippers  of  a  by-gone  fashion,  worn  and  time-stained,  old  tuning- 
forks,  guns,  warming-pans,  snuff-boxes !  What  have  1  Dot  had 
brought  me  as  worthy  of  purchase,  when  I  asked  for  pottery  and 
porcelain  ?  Once  an  ivory  or  bone  ring  was  produced,  and  I 
was  informed  that  all  the  family  for  generations  had  "  teethed 
on"  it! 

"  Yes,  marm,"  said  the  grandma  of  the  family,  whose  sunken 
mouth  and  mumbling  speech  showed  that  she  had  "teethed  on" 
nothing  for  many  a  day,  "  I've  seed  ev'ry  sing'l  young  one  in  this 
fam'ly  chewin'  an'  suckin'  that  ring,  from  'Lishy  down  to  Mary 
Ann.  Sam'l,  he  's  lawyerin'  over  to  Simsbrook,  he  gummed  away 
at  that  for  six  months,  an'  I  thought  he  never  would  git  any 
teeth.  But  they  come  at  last,  an'  you'd  think  he'd  got  teeth 
enough  if  you  see  him  in  green-corn  time."  I  did  not  make  a 
bid  for  the  ancient  relic,  on  whose  surface  Time — which  might 
most  pertinently  here  be  called  edax  rerum — had  left  many  a  dint 
and  stain. 

It  does  seem  strange  to  us  who  value  family  relics  that  people 
will  part  with  them  for  money.  The  feeling  of  the  "Ellis  girls,"1 
of  which  I  have  told  you,  is  natural,  and  one  must  always  respect 
it.  Many  a  piece  of  old  china  I  have  seen  that  would  be  a  beauty 
in  my  cabinet,  but  which,  finding  that  its  owner  cherished  it  for 
family  reasons,  I  would  not  dream  of  trying  to  get.  But  there 
are  hundreds  of  nice  old  pieces  which  the  owners  do  not  value, 
which  will  soon  disappear,  like  the  quantities  of  which  they  are 
rare  relics,  unless  they  are  gathered  in  collections.  I  think  china- 
hunting  on  this  account  a  good  service  to  art  and  education.  I 
wish  more  people  in  towns  and  villages  would  hunt  up  the  old 
specimens  in  families  and  put  them  together  where  they  will  be 
preserved. 

But  I  confess,  Charlotte,  that  I  am  a  little  bit  ashamed  of  any 
collector  who  finds  a  good  and  valuable  specimen  belonging  to 


232  HUNTING  ALONG   THE  ROADS. 

a  person  who  does  not  know  what  it  is  worth,  and  buys  it  for  a 
song.  Many  a  poor  woman  in  these  hard  times  has  told  me  she 
wanted  money  so  much  she  was  willing  to  sell  anything  in  hei 
house.  Could  you  take  advantage  of  such  a  woman  and  give  her 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar  for  a  Wedgwood  plate  with  a  charming  bor- 
der? I  will  not  say  what  I  do,  but  I  will  tell  you  what  1  saw  my 
father  do  one  day,  when  Ave  were  riding  together,  lie  stopped 
to  ask  for  a  drink  of  water,  and  a  man  brought  it  out  from  a  cot- 
tage in  a  very  pretty  little  pitcher.  "Do  you  want  to  sell  this?" 
said  father.  "  Yes,  and  anything  else  I've  got,"  said  the  man. 
"  What  will  you  take  for  it  ?"  "  Wall,  I  s'pose  it's  worth  a  dollar 
if  it's  worth  anything.     If  that's  too  much,  name  your  price." 

Father  looked  at  it  a  minute  or  two  and  said:  "I  think  it's 
worth  more.  If  it  is  what  I  suspect,  it  is  worth  twenty  dollars; 
if  it's  not  that,  it  is  not  worth  a  cent.  I'll  take  the  risk  and  give 
you  ten,  but  I  tell  you  frankly  it  may  be  worth  twice  that." 

He  got  the  pitcher  for  ten  dollars,  and  gave  me  the  reins 
while  he  examined  it;  and  that  evening  he  made  up  his  mind, 
witli  the  advice  of  two  or  three  friends,  that  it  was  not  worth  a 
cent.  But  I  know  he  felt  better  about  it  than  he  would  if  he 
had  given  a  dollar,  and  thought  for  a  few  hours  that  he  had  made 
a  bargain  out  of  a  poor  family. 

I  can  assure  you  of  this,  as  a  result  of  our  hunting  along  the 
roads  of  New  England,  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  money  value 
in  old  crockery  which  lies  idle  in  pantries,  and  that  collectors 
who  have  money  to  spend  do  a  great  deal  of  good  in  a  small  way 
by  giving  the  money  for  the  crockery.  And,  strange  as  you 
may  think  it,  it  is  very  rare  to  find  an  owner  of  old  pottery  in 
the  country,  whatever  be  the  family  associations,  who  would  not 
rather  have  the  money. 


XIII. 

WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND. 

"  Do  you  know,"  asked  Mrs.  Allison,  one  evening,  "  how  wide- 
spread is  the  influence  of  our  club?  Why,  even  the  children  are 
affected  by  it,  have  their  own  little  collections,  and  save  their 
pocket-money  for  the  purchase  of  rare  '  specimens.'  My  Mollie  is 
quite  enthusiastic  in  the  matter.  She  has  attended  some  of  our 
meetings,  and  thus  picked  up  a  little  knowledge,  and  now  consid- 
ers herself  quite  a  ceramic  authority  among  the  juveniles.  She 
has  been  spending  a  few  weeks  with  her  grandmother  in  Lake- 
town,  and  while  there  has  corresponded  with  Benny  Hall.  I  am 
sure  you  would  all  be  amused  with  the  letters  that  have  passed 
between  these  youthful  enthusiasts,  and  so  Mrs.  Hall  and  I  have 
brought  them  for  your  benefit.  Here  is  Mollie's  first,  written 
soon  after  her  arrival." 

"  Laketown,  July  — . 

"  Dear  Benny, — I  promised  to  write  first,  so  I  will  send  you 
a  letter  to-day,  and  then  you  can  answer  it  real  quick.  I  want  to 
hear  how  your  collection  comes  on.  I  have  had  great  fun  china 
hunting  here,  but  have  not  got  a  great  deal. 

"  Grandma  had  given  everything  away  out  of  her  pantry  and 
parlor-cupboard.  Cousin  Mary  collects,  and  she  had  teased  grand- 
ma out  of  everything ;  so  it  was  no  use  hunting  there.  But  one 
day  I  went  with  Sam  —  he's  grandma's  black  boy  —  to  Wood- 
ruff, the  next  village.     We  rode  in  the  buggy,  with  Nan  the  old 


234  WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND. 

mure,  and  I  thought  I  would  stop  along  the  way  and  see  what  I 
could  find. 

"  So  by-and-by  we  came  to  a  real  old-looking  house,  and  I 
said  to  Sam,  'Who  lives  there?'  and  he  said,  'Old  Mis'  Lane.' 
Then  I  ashed  him  some  questions,  and  found  she  was  a  pleasant 
old  woman,  and  there  wasn't  any  men -folks  around  the  place, 
and  so  T  wasn't  a  bit  afraid  to  go  there.  So  I  told  Sam  to  slop, 
and  I  got  out  and  went  up  to  the  door.  There  was  a  little  dog 
who  barked,  but  when  I  spoke  to  him  he  wagged  his  tail,  and  I 
wasn't  scared.  I  knocked  at  the  door,  and  a  real  nice  old  woman 
opened  it,  with  such  a  pleasant  face,  and-  a  clean  white  cap,  and 
she  said,  '  What  ye  want,  little  gal  ?'  and  I  said  very  politely, 
'  Will  you  please  give  me  a  drink  of  water.'  You  know  that's 
the  best  way  to  get  into  a  house;  I  heard  Miss  Graves  say  so. 
And  she  said,  'To  be  sure  I  will ;  come  right  in,  little  gal'  So  I 
went  into  a  real  nice,  old-fashioned  room,  and  she  went  to  the 
cupboard  in  the  corner  to  get  a  glass,  and  I  watched  her,  and  got 
a  peep  into  the  closet,  and  was  sure  I  saw  some  old  things.  So 
while  I  was  drinking  the  water  I  said  to  the  old  woman,  '  Have 
you  got  any  old  dishes  ?' 

"She  looked  rather  surprised,  and  she  said,  'What  kind  o' 
old  dishes,  deary?'  And  I  said,  'Salt-glazed  wares  of  the  last 
century '  (I  heard  that  at  the  club,  you  see) ;  and  she  looked  as 
if  she  thought  I  was  crazy :  so  I  saw  that  she  hadn't  had  my 
advantages,  and  I  explained  to  her  that  I  wanted  old  crockery 
dishes,  plates,  and  bowls,  and  such  things.  And  she  said, '  I  'spose 
ye  want  'em  to  play  tea  with  !'  You  see  she  didn't  know  I  was 
a  collector. 

"And  she  went  to  her  closet  and  looked  and  looked.  And 
then  she  brought  me  the  cunningest  little  thing,  though  it  isn't  a 
dish,  and  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  good  for  a  collection.  It's 
a  little  green  cradle,  such  as  a  fairy  might  lie  in.      (See  Til.  22.) 


WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND.  235 

It's  very  shiny,  and  the  green  is  different  shades,  and  there's 
raised  rings  on  it — you  can  feel  them  raised  with  your  ringer — 
and  it  has  little  rockers.  The  woman  said  she  had  it  when  she 
was  a  little  girl;  but  when  I  asked  her  if  it  came  from  Stafford- 
shire, she  laughed,  and  said,  'No,  I  guess  it  come  from  the  store 
over  to  Ta'nton  ;  pa  done  most  o'  his  shoppin'  there.'  She  was  a 
very  ignorant  woman. 

"  Then  I  asked  her  how  much  she  would  take  for  the  cradle ; 
and  she  laughed  till  she  shook  all  over — she  was  real  fat — and 
she  said,  '  I'll  take  a  good  hug  an'  a  kiss  an'  nothin'  more,  you 
dear  little  poppet.'  And  she  wouldn't  take  anything,  though  I 
offered  her  a  bright  ten -cent  piece.  And  she  kissed  me,  and 
gave  me  a  piece  of  cake  when  I  came  away.  I  went  to  two  or 
three  other  places,  and  I  drank  so  much  water  that  I  felt  quite 
sick  at  my  stomach.  But  I  didn't  get  anything  more  that  day, 
only  a  broken  blue  plate,  marked  E.  Wood  <£•  Sons.  But  when 
Sam  saw  that  I  was  looking  for  such  things,  he  told  me  he  knew 
a  man  who  had  some  old  dishes,  and  he  would  try  to  get  them 
for  me. 

"And  he  did  find  me  something  splendid,  Benny.  I'm  in 
such  a  hurry  to  show  it  to  you!  It's  a  tall  blue  teapot  —  or 
maybe  it's  a  coffee-pot,  I  don't  know — but  what  do  you  think  it's 
got  on  it — a  picture  of  the  Hartford  State-house!  (See  111.  21.) 
Don't  you  remember  when  I  went  to  Hartford  with  papa,  and  I 
told  you  how  we  went  to  the  State-house,  and  saw  the  Legislature? 
Well  this  is  the  very  same  building,  only  there  are  some  tall  pop- 
lar-trees around  this,  and  I  don't  think  I  saw  any  there — just 
such  trees,  you  know,  as  Baby  has  in  his  toy  village.  I'm  so  glad 
to  get  it,  and  I  gave  ever  so  much  money  for  it !  But  you  mustn't 
be  mad  if  I  don't  tell  yon  the  price.  We  collectors  never  tell 
such  things.  I'm  going  to  look  for  more  things  pretty  soon,  and 
then  I'll  write  you  again.     Do  send  me  a  letter  right  away,  and 


236  WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND. 

tell  mc  if  you  have  found  anything  more.  And  don't  make  fun, 
as  you  do  sometimes,  and  treat  our  collections  as  a  kind  of  game 
or  play.  It's  a  very  serious  matter,  Benny  Hall ;  the  greatest 
minds  is  engaged  in  kramics. 

"  Your  aff  t  friend,  Mollie  Allison." 


Here  is  Benny's  reply : 

"Dear  Mollie, — Bully  for  you!  I'm  glad  you  got  the  cradle 
and  the  teapot.  I  haven't  had  much  luck.  I  did  ask  old  Uncle 
Sim — the  man  who  brings  roots  and  wild  things  to  sell — if  he'd 
got  any  old  dishes  at  home,  and  he  said  he  had.  I  waited  a 
whole  week,  and  then  he  fetched  me  a  half  a  saucer,  white,  with 
nothing  on  it  at  all !  I  was  awful  mad,  and  wanted  to  punch  his 
head.  But  Mary  Jane,  the  woman  who  comes  in  to  help  iron  on 
Tuesdays,  she  told  me  of  a  house,  down  toward  Glenville,  where 
there  was  some  things.  And  I  walked  there  last  Saturday,  five 
miles,  and  an  awful  hot  day.  You  bet  I  was  tired  when  I  got 
there !  There  was  a  chap  about  as  big  as  me  standing  in  the 
yard,  tossing  a  ball,  and  I  asked  him  if  I  should  catch  for  him, 
and  Ave  got  acquainted  that  way ;  and  pretty  soon  I  asked  him 
about  dishes  and  things,  and  he  said  he  lived  with  his  Aunt  Han- 
nah, and  he'd  ask  her,  but  she  was  a  stingy  old  thing,  and  he 
didn't  believe  she'd  let  me  have  anything.  But  he  went  and 
asked  her,  and  she  came  out.  Jerusalem  crickets!  didn't  she 
pitch  into  me !  I  tell  you,  she  went  for  me !  She  called  me  all 
kinds  of  names,  and  told  me  to  get  right  out  of  her  yard  or  she'd 
give  me  something  I  didn't  like.  '  What  did  I  mean,'  she  said, 
'coming  into  honest  people's  houses,  and  taking  up  their  time 
with  my  stuff  and  nonsense?  If  she  was  my  mother' —  and  all 
flirt  kind  of  talk,  you  know.  I  didn't  say  a  word — couldn't  get 
i  chance,  you  see.  The  other  chap  he  was  making  faces  all  the 
time  r,he  kept  up  her  chin-music,  winking  one  eye  at  me,  and 


WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND.  237 

sticking  his  tongue  out,  and  I  Lad  to  run,  just  to  keep  from 
laughing  in  the  old  thing's  face.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  shy  a 
stone  at  her  head,  the  mean  old  catamaran  ! 

"  I  did  get  one  thing,  though,  the  other  day.  A  fellow — his 
name  is  Sid  Norris ;  you've  seen  him,  I  guess,  with  the  Baker 
boys,  a  short,  fat  chap,  with  reddish  hair — he  told  me  he  knew  a 
man  on  the  Chatfield  xoad,  near  the  quarries,  you  know,  who  had 
a  queer  old  crockery  pitcher,  shaped  like  a  man.  So  I  went  over 
there  with  Sid,  and  I  bought  the  old  thing  for — never  mind  how 
much  money,  '  we  collectors  never  tell  such  things.'  Oh  my,  aint 
we  grand  or  nothing ! 

"  It  was  awful  queer.  The  rummiest  old  fellow,  made  out  of 
pottery,  with  a  three-cornered  hat,  and  knee-breeches  on,  and  a 
mug  of  foaming  beer  in  one  hand  and  a  pipe  in  the  other.  (See 
111.  23.)  He's  all  hollow,  to  hold  beer — he  looks  as  if  he  was 
full  of  it  now — and  you  can  drink  right  out  of  his  cocked  hat. 
There's  a  handle  in  the  middle  of  his  back.  I  felt  hunky-dory, 
I  tell  you,  when  I  got  him,  and  carried  him  home  just  as  careful- 
ly as  I  could.  Papa  said  he  was  an  old  English  Toby — some- 
thing like  Toper,  I  suppose,  and  he  looks  it !  Papa  said  it  was 
not  just  the  kind  of  thing  for  a  collection  like  mine,  and  he  would 
take  it  off  my  hands ;  so  he  gave  me  a  Lowestoft  custard-cup  for 
it,  only  cracked  a  little,  and  that  don't  show  when  it  stands  on 
the  shelf  of  my  cabinet.  Papa  says  that  Lowestoft  china  is  a 
bully  thing  to  have,  because  there's  so  much  discussion  about  it, 
whatever  that  is — I  haven't  noticed  it  on  my  cup. 

"  Ned  Stevenson  is  collecting  too.  He's  got  a  Millennium 
plate,  and  a  plate  with  the  willow  pattern — it's  broke  a  little — 
and  two  or  three  other  things.  He  found  a  pepper-box  made 
out  of  crockery,  the  funniest  thing.  There's  no  top  to  take  off, 
and  where  do  you  think  they  put  in  the  pepper  ?  Give  it  up  ? 
Why,  there's  a  hole  in  the  bottom,  and  they  put  the  pepper  in 


238  WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND. 

there,  and  then  stop  it  up  with  a  cork.  (See  111.  25.)  Ned  gave 
a  boy  out  at  the  mills  his  best  ball  for  it,  and  then  Mrs.  Steven- 
son went  and  took  it  for  her  collection,  and  didn't  give  him  any- 
thing but  a  mended  saucer  with  kind  of  raised  purple  spriggles 
on  it.  She  told  him  it  was  the  celebrated  Lavender-spot  China, 
but  mamma  says  it's  quite  modern. 

"  I  can't  think  of  any  more  to  write.  Answer  this  double- 
quick.  Your  friend,  Benjamin  Wells  Hall. 

"  P.S. — I  wouldn't  talk  so  big  about  a  thing,  if  I  was  you,  and 
then  spell  it  wrong.     It's  c-e-i'-a-m-i-c-s,  goosey  !" 

Mollie  wrote  again : 

"  Dear  Benny, — Cousin  Mary  is  here.  She  says  my  little 
green  cradle  is  old  English,  probably  made  in  Whieldon's  time. 
(She  told  me  how  to  spell  him.)  She  says  she  has  a  sugar-bowl 
of  the  same  stuff,  and  just  as  green  and  shiny.  It's  in  the  shape 
of  a  house,  with  doors  and  windows,  and  there's  a  little  woman 
on  top  for  the  knob !  Cousin  Spencer  said  she  was  a  nobby  lit- 
tle woman,  and  then  they  all  laughed,  but  I  don't  know  what  he 
meant.  Cousin  Mary  bought  the  cradle  of  me,  and  gave  me  a 
pink  printed  plate  for  it.     Isn't  she  good  ? 

"  I  told  her  about  your  Toby,  and  she  says  she's  got  one  just 
like  it,  and  she  thinks  they  were  made  by  one  of  the  Woods  in 
Staffordshire.  What  lots  of  things  they  made  in  Staffordshire! 
Cousin  Mary  thinks  she  will  give  me  a  tile  that  she  painted  her- 
self in  exchange  for  my  coffee-pot  with  the  Hartford  State-house. 
Slie's  too  nice  for  anything.  Tell  Edith  Bond  I  have  got  some 
things  for  her.  You  know  she  collects  plain  white  china.  Her 
father  told  her  it  was  a  good  plan,  and  she's  got  a  whole  shelf 
full.  She  says  it's  the  only  collection  of  the  kind  in  Aiuerica, 
but  I  don't  think  it  makes  much  of  a  show.  Gerty  Dillingham 
is  going  to  collect  mended  china,  and  I've  got  a  blue  saucer  for 


WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND.  239 

her  that's  mended  real  funny  with  putty.  I  can't  afford  to  give 
it  to  her,  but  I'll  sell  it  reasonable'. 

"  I  went  with  grandma  to  take  tea  at  Mrs.  Tripp's  the  other 
day,  and  Miss  Vinie  Tripp  gave  me  a  little  doll's  pitcher.  Part 
of  it  looks  as  if  it  was  made  of  copper,  but  it's  all  crockery,  and 
the  middle  of  it  is  all  like  gravel,  little  teenty  bits  of  stones  stuck 
on  all  over  it.  Miss  Vinie  says  it's  real  old,  and  I  guess  it  is,  for 
the  handle  is  gone,  and  the  nose  is  chipped.  No  mark.  She 
says  she  will  look  up  something  else  for  me ;  it's  a  little  red 
earthen  porringer.  It  was  made  at  Norwalk,  in  Connecticut, 
more  than  seventy  years  ago ;  Miss  Vinie  says  she  gave  a  bag  of 
rags  for  it  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  There  was  a  vessel  came 
there,  loaded  with  milk-pans  and  jugs  and  jars  and  flower-pots 
from  Norwalk,  and  the  children  used  to  buy  them  with  rags,  and 
paper,  and  old  iron. 

"  I  never  saw  a  porringer,  but  I've  read  about  it  in  '  We're 

Seven.' 

'  I  take  my  little  porringer, 

And  eat  my  supper  there.' 

"  Good-bye,  Benny.  Write  me  some  more,  but  please  don't 
say  '  bully,'  and  such  words.  They're  not  proper  in  writing  to  a 
young  lady.  Your  true  friend,  Mollie  Allison. 

"  P.S.— Mrs.  Leavitt  says  '  kramic'  " 

And  here  is  Benny's  reply  : 

"  Dear  Mollie, — Seems  to  me  you're  putting  on  airs.  What's 
the  matter  with  '  bully  V  I  think  it's  a  bang-up  word.  You're 
getting  slathers  of  things  for  your  collection,  aint  you  ?  Mother 
says  your  little  pitcher  is  '  coppelluster ' — whatever  that  is.  She's 
got  one,  but  there  aint  any  gravel  on  it.  The  middle — where  it 
swells  out,  you  know — is  blue,  with  raised  people  on  it ;  and  it's 
marked  Wood  &  Caldwell.     Ned  Stevenson  took  a  blue  pie-plate 


■2 40  WHAT  THE  CHILDREN  FOUND. 

out  of  his  Aunt  Lydia's  pantry  without  asking,  and  lie  got  an 
awful  thrashing  from  his  father.  He  came  round  to  tell  me 
ahout  it.  He  said  no  living  collector  could  have  helped  taking 
it,  for  it  was  marked.  Poor  Ned !  he's  pretty  well  marked  him- 
self, for  he  got  a  thundering  licking. 

"  You  needn't  bring  anything  for  Edith  Pond.  She's  going  to 
sell  her  collection  of  white  china,  and  buy  a  Scrap-album.  Don't 
vou  tell,  Mollie ;  but  I  marj  have  to  sell  my  collection.  I'm  aw- 
fully hard  up,  and  in  debt,  too.  I  owe  Sid  Norris  ten  cents  for 
a  fish-pole,  and  there's  eight  for  candy  at  Miss  Green's.  Do  you 
know  any  one  who  wants  to  buy  ?  I'd  sell  cheap,  for  cash,  for 
I'm  just  about  bust.  Yours  truly,  Benny  Hall." 


29.  The  Helmet  Creamer:  page  245. 

[Porcelain  :  hard-paste  :  blue  ami  white  :  mark,  a  cross  and  indistinct  letter  :  Bristol.] 


30.  A  Duck  of  a  Sauce-Boat  :  p;ige  253. 

[English  pottery,  painted  in  colors.] 

16 


XIV. 

WHAT  AVE  ALL  FOUND. 

When  the  club  was  founded,  certain  wiseacres  laughed  at  us. 
They  said  we  might  study  books  as  much  as  we  pleased,  but  we 
could  never  find  old  specimens  of  ceramic  art  in  this  country  to 
illustrate  our  studies.  Nor  had  we  ourselves  any  great  confidence 
in  the  success  of  our  hunting.  But  when  we  began  to  appreci- 
ate the  fact  that,  after  all,  the  history  of  domestic  pottery  in  Old 
England  does  not  extend  back  of  the  family  history  of  New  Eng- 
land, we  took  courage,  and  determined  to  learn  what  we  could  of 
the  kinds  of  pottery  our  ancestors  used. 

It  was  really  remarkable  how  many  treasures  our  club  unearth- 
ed. We  were  none  of  us  very  rich,  so  that  the  tremendous  prices 
we  occasionally  hear  of  as  paid  for  rare  specimens  were  quite  out 
of  the  question  among  us.  We  were  not  great  travellers ;  some 
of  our  members  never  went  five  miles  from  home,  and  not  a  sin- 
gle one  visited  Europe  during  the  club's  existence.  But  we  were 
indefatigable  in  our  narrow  sphere,  and  were  rewarded  by  great 
successes.  Of  course  we  began  with  very  moderate  expectations, 
and  our  ambitions  scarcely  reached  beyond  the  dark-blue  printed 
ware  of  Clews,  Wood,  and  others. 

I  remember  how  perfectly  delighted  I  was  when  Aunt  Ellen 
gave  me  a  plate  with  a  print  of  "Dr.  Syntax  painting  a  Portrait." 
These  blue  prints  of  the  adventures  of  Dr.  Syntax  are  not  rare, 
but  are  none  the  less  bright  and  charming.  The  name  was  the 
pseudonym  assumed  by  William  Combe,  who  published  in  Lon- 


244  WHAT   WE  ALL  FOUND. 

don,  in  1812,  a  poem,  "Dr.  Syntax's  Tour  in  search  of  the  Pict- 
uresque." It  was  illustrated  with  colored  plates,  after  Thomas 
Rowlandson,  in  his  day  the  most  celebrated  English  designer  of 
humorous  and  amusing  subjects.  A  second  tour,  "In  search  of 
Consolation,"  illustrated  by  Rowlandson,  was  published  in  1820; 
and  a  third,  the  Doctor's  tour  "In  search  of  a  Wife,"  appeared  in 
1821.  The  colored  pictures  in  the  books  fade,  but  the  potter's 
pictures  are  lasting  in  gorgeous  blue,  and  whoever  preserves  these 
will  have  permanent  memorials  of  a  style  of  art  and  an  artist  ex- 
cessively popular  for  a  long  time  in  England. 

"Pittsfield"  dishes  were  in  great  demand,  especially  by  two  or 
three  of  our  number  who  had  graduated  at  Maplewood.  Even 
the  later  works  of  Wood  and  Ridgway,  in  pink,  dark  brown,  and 
pale  blue,  were  prized.  But  by  and-by  we  were  more  fastidious. 
1  think  it  was  Sophy  Graves  who  first  found  a  piece  of  marked 
Wedgwood.  Poor  Sophy !  she  had  palpitation  of  the  heart  and 
nervous  headache  for  two  days  after.  The  piece  was  a  plate,  with 
pretty  blue-and-gold  ribbon  border,  and  in  the  centre  a  shield  of 
arms.  (See  111.  27.)  Across  the  back  in  black,  baked  in,  is  the 
name  W.  Blozam,  Esqr.  Oct.  27tk,  1802;  and  beneath  this,  un- 
der the  glaze,  in  a  yellow  color,  the  words  Not  a  pattern,  in  a  care- 
less handwriting.  This  curious  legend  seems  to  have  been  written 
with  a  lead-pencil  on  the  paste  before  it  was  glazed,  and  uninten- 
tionally appears  after  the  baking.  Then  Mr.  Leavitt  found  some 
old  Staffordshire  (three  or  four  pieces)  with  gay,  rudely  painted 
flowers,  and  Mrs.  Chase  had  a  silver-lustre  pitcher  sent  her;  and 
so  our  sphere  widened  and  our  desires  enlarged.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  night  that  Mr.  Stevenson  brought  in  his  Bristol  cream- 
er, lie  had  seen  it  in  a  kitchen  window  as  he  drove  through 
Baytown,  and,  supposing  it  to  be  old  blue-and-white  Canton  or 
Nankin,  had  stopped  and  offered  its  owner  fifty  cents  for  it.  She 
gladly  consented  to  the  purchase ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  buyer 


WHAT   WE  ALL  FOUND.  245 

was  again  on  the  road  that,  in  turning  over  the  piece,  he  discov- 
ered upon  the  bottom  the  Bristol  cross  and  a  number.  It  was  of 
the  helmet  shape,  and  decorated  in  blue,  in  imitation  of  Chinese, 
a  style  common  to  Bristol  china.     (See  111.  29.) 

Oh,  how  envious  some  of  us  were!  Mrs.  Allison  said  she  had 
intended  to  go  into  Bay  town  that  very  day,  and  of  course  should 
have  looked  into  that  kitchen  window;  but  Mollie  had  the 
mumps,  and  she  could  not  leave  her.  That  same  evening  a  black 
basalt  sugar-bowl  was  brought  in — I  forget  to  whom  it  belonged 
— marked  "  Riley,"  and  we  had  to  look  up  the  name  and  rind  out 
all  about  John  and  Richard  Riley,  of  Burslem,  who  worked  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  last  century  and  beginning  of  this. 

Another  piece,  somewhat  similar,  marked  Turner,  was  after- 
ward found.  This  was  doubtless  by  John  Turner,  of  Longton, 
one  of  the  best  imitators  of  Wedgwood,  and  his  contemporary. 
A  good  deal  of  earthen-ware,  decorated  with  pink  metallic  lustre, 
came  to  light,  and  at  first  we  attributed  all  this  to  Newcastle  and 
Sunderland.  But  Charlie  Baker  came  across  a  sugar-bowl  of  this 
style,  marked  Oleics  (the  Cobridge  potter);  and  afterward  I  found 
at  Lee  a  similar  piece,  marked  Wood,  which  was  Enoch  Wood's 
mark  at  one  time — probably  about  1819.  Subsequently  we  found 
many  pieces  ornamented  with  more  or  less  pink  lustre,  which  had 
also  prints,  some  of  which  were  signed  Bentley  Wear  &  Bourne, 
Engravers  and  Printers,  Shelton,  Staffordshire.  The  frequent  oc- 
currence of  rather  good  prints  of  the  same  class,  associated  with 
pink-lustre  borders  and  ornaments,  led  us  to  assign  such  speci- 
mens to  Shelton,  without  attempting  to  name  the  potter  who 
made  them.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  printing  on  pottery 
was  a  distinct  business,  and  many  potters  sent  their  wares  to  the 
printing  establishments  to  receive  prints,  and  took  them  home  to 
be  baked.  Wedgwood  sent  his  wares  thus  all  the  way  from  Burs- 
lem to  Liverpool,  when  Sadler,  at  the  latter  place,  possessed  the 


24G  WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND. 

secret  of  the  transfer  art.  Probably  the  engravers  named  above 
did  work  for  many  potters  at  and  near  Shelton  ;  but  I  suppose 
they  engraved  and  used  particular  prints  only  for  particular 
makers. 

An  interesting  specimen  was  a  pitcher,  pottery,  decorated  sim- 
ply witb  a  sbip  painted  in  colors.  On  the  bottom  of  this  were 
the  words  Bristol  Pottery,  written  rather  coarsely  in  dark  brown 
or  black.  Several  teapots  and  other  articles  of  table-ware  have 
turned  up  marked  with  the  cross  of  Bristol.  The  pottery  works 
of  Bristol  were  wholly  distinct  from  the  porcelain  factory  of 
Champion,  whose  products  are  so  highly  esteemed.  But  the  au- 
thorities agree  that  the  cross  mark  was  used  by  both.  The  tea- 
pots belonged  always  to  a  class  of  ware  which  is  very  interesting, 
because  so  much  of  it  is  found  in  America.  I  have  seen  a  great 
many  such  teapots,  and  some  that  look  like  them,  and  yet  not 
like  them.  I  have  learned  this  much  for  myself,  that  they  are  a 
kind  of  ware  somewhat  like  Wedgwood's  cream  or  queen's  ware, 
but  not  so  good  or  hue. 

I  think  the  teapots  in  old  houses  in  New  England  illustrate 
the  entire  history  of  the  growth  of  the  pottery  art  in  Old  Eng- 
land. Many  are  the  old  patterns  made  as  copies  of  silver  ser- 
vices. These  are  generally  thin,  strong  ware,  quaint  shapes,  mostly 
angular,  with  flutings  and  relief  decorations  of  leafage,  the  reliefs 
sometimes  colored  bright  green  or  yellow,  and  once  in  a  while 
flowers  are  painted  on  them,  quite  simply.  It  is  common  to  find 
the  knob  of  a  cover  in  the  form  of  a  swan,  and,  almost  as  com- 
mon, a  dolphin.  Some  of  these  specimens  have  the  orange-peel 
surface  of  salt-glazed  wares.  Others  were  coated  with  a  white 
clay  before  they  were  glazed.  All  these  seem  to  be  examples  of 
the  potter's  art  before  it  reached  the  perfection  to  which  Wedg- 
wood's influence  brought  it.  They  may  have  been  of  later  date 
than  Wedgwood's  time:   some  are  so,  1  know.     But  these  show 


WHAT    WE  ALL  FOUND.  247 

the  old  style  of  work  still  surviving  among  modern  improve- 
ments. 

"We  found  some  New  Hall  porcelain,  marked.  Mr.  Jewett  says 
it  is  rare  in  England.  We  have  not  found  it  rare  here.  The 
porcelain  is  generally  very  pure  and  beautifully  translucent,  and 
the  decorations  either  in  pink  lustre,  or  in  red  or  black  prints. 
We  have  found  a  few  specimens  with  painted  flowers.  Some 
very  pretty  cream-ware  dishes  were  discovered,  painted  with  love- 
ly landscapes,  and  stamped  "  Wilson."  Wilson  was  the  successor 
at  Hanley  of  the  firm  of  Neale  &  Palmer,  who  were  Wedgwood's 
most  skilful  rivals  and  imitators. 

Oriental  specimens  were  rare,  but  were  occasionally  found. 
Dr.  Hall  secured  a  charming  little  Chinese  teapot,  decorated  in 
red  and  blue,  picked  out  with  gold.  Some  plates  with  flowers 
and  queer  birds  were  picked  up,  and  two  lovely  punchdiowls 
with  Chinese  Jandscapes  and  figures.  And  one  evening  Mrs. 
Allison  came  in  with  some  tiny  cups  and  saucers,  almost  egg- 
shells as  to  delicacy,  white  ground  with  bright  flowers.  She 
found  them  at  the  sea  -  side,  in  the  family  of  a  retired  sea- 
captain. 

Mr.  Brooks — who  is  at  Harvard — found  near  Boston  two  or 
three  Liverpool  pitchers  with  ships,  and  such  things.  They  were 
the  first  we  had  gathered,  but  soon  after  several  others  came  in, 
and  we  lost  our  keen  interest  in  them.  I  found  myself,  while 
spending  a  day  and  night  in  Helmsley,  a  cream-ware  fruit-basket 
and  tray,  having  open-work  borders,  and  painted  with  a  graceful 
drop-pattern  in  red.  It  was  marked  with  the  impressed  Hercu- 
laneum,  and  I  was  charmed  with  it.  But  Miss  Lee,  the  very  same 
evening  on  which  I  exhibited  this  treasure,  brought  the  dearest 
old  salt-glazed  pitcher — genuine  Crouch-ware,  I  suppose.  It  has  a 
heart-shaped  medallion  on  the  side,  and  on  it,  raised  and  colored, 
are  two  quaint  children,  playing.    The  scene  is  entitled  "Sportive 


248  WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND. 

Innocence."     I  would  have  exchanged  my  fruit-basket  for  it,  I 

think,  but  had  no  opportunity. 

There  were  several  very  nice  tortoise-shell  or  marble  plates 
found.  These  are  good  specimens  of  the  first  attempts  of  Eng- 
lish potters  to  make  ornamental  table  wares,  and  are  interesting 
when  you  remember  that  Josiah  AVedgwood  began  his  life-work 
by  improving  the  character  of  these  wares  as  made  by  Whiel- 
don.  Some  of  them  are  really  beautiful  pieces,  especially  those 
which  show  iridescence  in  the  glaze,  almost  equalling  Italian 
lustres. 

I  must  not  forget  the  Delft,  the  old  wares  of  Holland,  or  those 
made  in  England,  when  the  English  potters  began  to  learn  from 
the  Dutch.  These  were  frequently  found,  especially  in  old  farm- 
houses. Of  course,  no  one  can  affirm  how  old  such  pieces  are,  as 
the  styles  were  continued  in  common  potteries  down  to  the  latter 
part  of  the  last  century.  But  there  is  little  reason  to  doubt  that 
these  thick  crockery  plates,  white,  with  a  few  decorations  in  color, 
usually  blue,  are  among  the  earliest  table  wares  used  in  New  Eng- 
land houses.  There  were  certainly  twenty  varieties  of  Delft  plates 
secured  by  members  of  the  club  in  one  year. 

Several  pieces  of  Wedgwood  came  into  our  possession  after 
the  finding  of  the  plate  before  alluded  to.  I  myself  found,  in  a 
garret  where  I  was  rummaging,  the  remains  of  some  cups  and 
saucers  of  yellow  ware,  unglazed  outside,  which  may  perhaps  be  a 
variety  of  the  jasper-ware.  I  have  seen  specimens  of  the  same 
ware  with  relief  vines  and  fruits  in  deep  brown  color. 

Some  pickle-leaves,  white,  veined  with  blue,  marked  Wedgwood, 
were  also  found.  And  I  saw  at  the  house  of  a  lady  in  Deerford 
a  lovely  pitcher  of  black  basaltes,  with  reliefs  of  children  at  play; 
a  fine  specimen  of  its  kind,  with  the  mark.  The  reliefs  are  sharp 
and  exquisite,  the  whole  work  characteristic  of  an  early  time. 
This  treasure  is  an  heirloom  much  valued  by  its  owner,  and,  of 


WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND.  249 

course,  did  not  come  into  the  possession  of  our  club.  But  many 
of  us  saw  it,  studied  it,  and  admired  its  beauty. 

A  few  tiles  were  found,  blue  and  white  generally,  though  Mr. 
Brooks  found  some  with  other  colors. 

Specimens  of  Caughley  porcelain  rewarded  our  researches. 
Some  marked  S;  some  with  the  filled  crescent;  and  one  piece,  a 
small  bowl  on  a  plate,  had  a  numeral  in  Japanese  style,  such  as 
is  given  in  the  text -books.  This  last  was  the  willow-pattern, 
printed  in  blue. 

Several  unmarked  pieces,  pronounced  by  good  judges  to  be 
Worcester  porcelain,  were  brought  in.  One  such  was  procured 
by  Miss  Norton  from  a  poor  Cuban  woman  whom  she  was  be- 
friending, who  called  the  piece  Spanish.  It  is  a  bowl  decorated 
in  vermilion  and  gold,  very  rich  and  beautiful ;  the  paste  is  de- 
cidedly Worcester  —  so  say  experts;  and  I  have  seen  specimens, 
with  precisely  similar  decoration,  in  the  Museum  of  Art  in  New 
York,  classed  as  Worcester. 

Jane  Forsythe  worked  hard  for  three  weeks  to  secure  one  piece 
of  pottery.  She  saw  it  while  hunting,  a  few  miles  from  Little- 
ville,  and  offered  a  large  sum  for  it.  Her  offer  was  refused. 
Then  she  came  home,  cried  her  eyes  nearly  out,  and  wrote  a  pa- 
thetic letter  to  the  obdurate  owner,  begging  him  to  part  with  his 
treasure  for  a  higher  price.  He  declined.  She  took  to  her  bed. 
After  a  time  she  sent  a  box  to  the  household  where  the  desire  of 
her  eyes  dwelt.  The  box  contained  gifts  for  the  whole  family — 
dresses  for  the  children,  caps  for  the  mother,  pipes  and  tobacco  for 
the  old  man,  etc.,  etc.,  and  so  by  slow  degrees  the  goal  was  won. 
She  brought  the  long-sought  treasure  in  one  evening,  the  happi- 
est creature  you  ever  saw.  It  was  a  mug,  of  Gres-ware,  on  which 
was  a  relief  group,  men  and  women  chasing  a  fox,  who  held  in 
his  mouth  a  stolen  goose.  It  belongs  to  the  period  of  art  about 
the  close  of  the  seventeenth  or  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  cent- 


250  WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND. 

ury,  and  in  searching  the;  luniks  for  information  we  found  that 
Brongniart  classed  it  as  Faience  historigue, and  thought  it  Dutch; 
but  more  modern  authorities  regard  it  as  English  salt- glazed 
stone-ware.  (See  111.  24.)  The  peculiar  interest  which  attaches 
to  such  specimens  is  in  the  fact  that  they  illustrate  the  very  be- 
ginning of  beautiful  pottery  in  England  in  times  of  I  hvight  and 
the  Elers,  and  their  immediate  successors,  before  the  days  of 
Wedgwood. 

When  this  mug  was  exhibited  at  the  club,  it  excited  considera- 
ble interest.  Dr.  Wells,  on  looking  at  the  decoration,  exclaimed, 
"Why,  this  is  Holbeinish ;"  and  being  called  on  to  explain  his 
expression,  remarked  that  "in  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury the  German  book-publishers  had  a  fancy,  among  other  odd 
subjects  of  book  ornamentation  in  borders  and  head  and  tail 
pieces,  for  scenes  of  peasant  life.  It  was  said  that  Holbein  once 
paid  a  tavern  bill  by  painting  on  the  wall  of  the  inn  a  dance  of 
peasants.  No  one  knows  whether  this  is  true,  but  a  dance  of 
peasants  was  engraved  as  a  page  ornament,  and  used  by  the  Basle 
book-publishers,  and  an  ornamental  Alphabet  of  the  same  kind 
appeared. 

"At  the  same  time,  say  about  1528,  was  engraved  this  scene — 
the  fox  stealing  a  goose,  and  chased  by  the  peasant's  family,  with 
Hails,  rakes,  and  all  kinds  of  weapons  seized  for  the  chase.  I  re- 
member the  picture  used  as  an  ornamental  page  border  in  a  col- 
lection of  medical  treatises,  which  I  have  in  my  library,  entitled 
De  He  Medico,  which  was  published  by  Cratander,  at  Basle,  in 
1528.  Dibdin  speaks  of  it  as  found  in  an  edition  of  Polidore 
Virgil,  some  years  later.  I  have  seen  it  in  other  books.  It  must 
have  been  some  favorite  story  of  the  early  times.  All  these  de- 
signs are  called  Peasant  Dances  by  modern  writers,  as  they  call 
the  grim  scenes  of  Death  'Dances  of  Death;'  and  many  of  them 
are  ascribed  to  Holbein  as  the  designer.     You  will  find  this  fox- 


WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND.  251 

chase  described,  and  the  original  wood-cut  reproduced  in  fac-sinuile, 
in  several  modern  books,  such  as  Woltmann's  'Life  of  Holbein,' 
and  one  of  Dibdin's  books,  I  can't  remember  which.  It  is  odd 
to  find  the  old  story  produced  on  crockery,  and  more  odd  still 
if  this  is  indeed  an  English  specimen.  I  have  a  dim  recollection 
of  seeing  the  picture  in  an  English  book  of  the  last  century." 
,  In  all  the  hunting  done  by  our  club,  but  one  piece  bearing  the 
mark  of  any  Continental  manufacture,  except  Delft,  has  ever  been 
found.  This  is  a  tea-caddy,  very  prettily  decorated,  and  bearing 
the  Vienna  mark.  (See  111.  '28.)  Mrs.  Allison  found  it,  and  gave 
a  grand  tea-party  in  its  honor.  She  obtained  it  from  a  poor  Eng- 
lish woman,  who  had  brought  it  with  her  across  the  ocean  many 
years  ago.  No  Sevres,  Dresden,  Berlin,  or  any  longed-for  treas- 
ures of  France,  Germany,  and  Italy,  did  we  ever  pick  up.  This 
seems  to  me  a  fact  worthy  of  being  recorded ;  for  it  shows  how 
entirely  our  ancestors  were  dependent  on  England  in  their  com- 
mercial relations.  The  Dutch  plates  we  found  may  be  as  old  as 
Dutch  times  in  New  York,  or  may  have  come  through  England. 

There  was  another  interesting  fact  which  we  noticed.  The 
old  potteries,  whether  of  Bristol  or  Staffordshire,  which  abound 
mostly  in  country  houses,  have  occasionally  certain  class  resem- 
blances to  one  another  which  collectors  soon  recognize,  even 
though  the  decorations  vary.  All  along  the  line  of  the  Connecticut 
Valley,  even  up  to  the  northern  part  of  Vermont  and  New  Hamp- 
shire, we  found  kinds  of  pottery  which  were  not  found  elsewhere. 
This  seemed  to  show  that  New  Haven  wTas  the  port  to  which 
these  were  brought  first,  and  the  supplies  went  to  country  places 
up  the  Connecticut  River  in  boats.  Persons  who  are  familiar 
with  country  crockery  in  New  York  and  around  Boston  tell  us 
that  these  kinds  are  not  found  there. 

A  specimen  which  greatly  puzzled  us  all  was  discovered  in  an 
old  farm-house,  where  it  had  been  used  by  two  or  three  genera- 


252  WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND. 

tions  of  the  family.  It  was  a  small  bowl  of  hard-paste  porcelain, 
decorated  with  arabesque  patterns  in  blue.  It  did  not  look  like 
a  Chinese  paste,  or  decoration,  and  the  queer  mark  on  the  bottom 

was  in  none  of  our  books.     Professor astonished  the  owner 

by  declaring  this  mark  to  be  plain  Persian  letters. 

Perhaps  the  most  wonderful  discovery  any  of  us  ever  made  was 
Mrs.  Johnston's  Bow  sauce-boat.  It  may  not  be  the  most  valu- 
able thing  we  have,  but  it  certainly  made  the  greatest  sensation 
among  us.  And  she  found  it  in  the  oddest  way.  She  had  gone  to 
New  York  for  a  little  spring  shopping,  and  was  staying  at  a  private 
boarding-house  up-town.  One  morning,  as  she  passed  through 
the  front  hall  to  go  out  of  the  door,  she  saw  a  poorly-dressed,  but 
respectable-looking,  man  waiting  there.  lie  addressed  her,  said 
he  was  an  Englishman,  out  of  work  and  in  great  need  of  money. 
His  wife  had  formerly  been  a  servant  in  a  wealthy  family  in 
England.  When  she  left  her  situation  to  marry,  her  mistress  had 
given  her  some  odd  pieces  of  a  china  dinner-service.  One  of 
these  he  had  with  him,  and  would  like  to  dispose  of,  he  having 
heard  that  old  china  was  now  in  demand.  Mrs.  Johnston  looked 
at  the  piece,  saw  that  it  was  very  pretty,  and  undoubtedly  old; 
and  finding  that  his  price  was  very  reasonable,  paid  it,  and  secured 
the  specimen.  On  taking  it  to  the  best  authorities  in  New  York, 
she  was  assured  that  she  had  a  piece  of  undoubted  Bow  porce- 
lain ;  and  even  in  our  club  of  rather  envious  collectors  no  shadow 
of  suspicion  rests  upon  its  genuineness.  It  is  a  sauce-boat  formed 
of  leaves  embossed  on  leaves,  and  the  handle  is  a  great  leaf-stem 
turned  over.  There  are  raised  flowers  near  the  handle,  and  little 
painted  flowers  on  the  embossed  leaves,  and  the  whole  is  deli- 
cately painted.      (See  111.  2G.) 

Cream-ware  plates,  with  black  prints,  turned  up.  Some  of 
these  were  probably  Wedgwood;  some  Liverpool.  Different 
"tea-party  prints"  appear   on   these,  and  these   tea-party  prints 


WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND.  253 

are  very  interesting.  They  must  have  been  a  favorite  decoration 
in  the  last  century,  for  they  are  found  on  Worcester  and  Caughley 
porcelain,  and  on  Liverpool  and  Staffordshire  potteries.  One  of 
them,  perhaps  engraved  by  Sadler,  appears  on  a  Liverpool  plate, 
which  was  the  last  remaining  piece  of  a  service  once  belonging 
to  the  grandmother  of  one  of  the  members  of  the  club.  (See 
111.  31.) 

Other  early  printed  wares  were  discovered  in  mugs  and  pitch- 
ers, and  later  specimens  in  table  services  in  great  variety.  The 
whole  history  of  transfer-printing  on  pottery  was  illustrated  pret- 
ty thoroughly  by  what  was  found.  Mr.  Whitney's  list  of  Ameri- 
can pieces  was  largely  made  up  of  our  discoveries,  and  the  club 
claimed,  with  right,  his  entire  catalogue  as  a  result  of  their  labor. 

Mr.  Brooks  found  a  little  cream-ware  pitcher  with  Jane  Tay- 
lor's (?)  poem,  "My  Mother,"  printed  upon  it  in  black;  and  the 
same  lines  were  found  upon  a  bowl,  accompanying  a  black  print 
of  a  mother  and  child,  very  nicely  engraved.  Some  earthen-ware 
was  marked  Oyples  ;  and  we  found  the  name  as  that  of  a  potter 
at  Lane  End,  in  1786.  How  delighted  Jane  Norton  was  with  a 
sauce-boat  she  found  in  an  old  house  at  Welbury !  It  belonged 
to  a  widower,  and  had  come  to  him  through  his  wife.  It  seems 
dreadful,  but  Jane  finally  secured  it  by  crying  at  his  story  of  his 
dear  departed.  She  says  it  was  no  sin  ;  for  she  was  told,  on  good 
authority,  that  he  had  offered  himself  to  every  marriageable  girl 
in  the  village  since  his  loss.  "  But  how  did  you  succeed  in  act- 
ually shedding  tears  ?"  asked  some  one. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  as  hard  as  I  could  of  losing  the  treasure  and 
going  home  empty-handed,  and  the  tears  came  in  a  minute." 

It  is  in  the  shape  of  a  duck,  and  is  old  English,  I  suppose. 
Charlie  Baker  calls  it  a  "  duck  of  a  sauce-boat."  The  neck  and 
head  of  the  duck  form  the  handle  of  the  boat.     (See  111.  30.) 

The   oldest   specimen   discovered   was  the   Fulham   jug,  illus- 


254  WHAT   WE  ALL  FOUND. 

trated  at  page  61  ;  or  the  Peasant's  Dance,  at  page  179.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  which  of  these  is  the  earlier.  From  these  spec- 
imens our  discoveries  formed  quite  a  continuous  illustration  of 
the  manufacture  and  decoration  of  potteries  in  England  down  to 
modern  days.  We  thus  proved  that  New  England  could,  with 
its  domestic  potteries,  furnish  very  fair  illustrative  collections  of 
the  history  of  ceramic  art  in  Old  England. 

In  reviewing  the  discoveries  of  the  club,  I  have  not  mentioned 
again  the  specimens  which  are  described,  and  some  of  which  are 
illustrated  elsewhere  in  this  book. 

On  the  whole,  we  did  not  think  the  time  given  to  the  subject 
thrown  away.  Every  specimen  found  was  a  subject  of  long  or 
short  discussion  and  examination ;  and  so  it  came  about  that  we 
could  all  of  us  understand,  after  a  while,  how  the  old  china  and 
crockery  of  our  own  country  was  a  sort  of  index  to  the  history 
of  families  and  their  ways  of  living;  and  the  history  of  families 
makes  up  the  history  of  a  country  like  ours ;  for  the  rulers  here 
are  the  people  of  the  country,  and  the  life  of  a  sensible,  well-to- 
do,  hard-working  New  England  farmer  in  the  last  century,  if  it 
were  written  in  full,  would  be  as  interesting  a  book  as  the  life  of 
a  king  in  Europe. 

"  You  see,"  said  Mrs.  Leavitt  one  day,  "  the  life  of  an  Ameri- 
can citizen  is  not  half  written  unless  you  know  how  he  voted  at 
every  election,  and  what  were  the  motives  of  his  vote.  We  all 
know  in  these  days  how  much  depends  on  one  vote  in  public 
affairs,  and  I  don't  think  any  influences  are  greater  on  a  man's 
conduct  in  the  day  than  the  influences  of  his  breakfast,  dinner, 
and  tea-table." 

There  was  a  great  deal  to  think  of  in  what  Mrs.  Leavitt  said. 
I  am  sure  that  the  old  crockeries  we  found  in  old  houses  prove  a 
great  deal  id"  taste  and  refinement  among  the  wives  of  the  fore- 
fathers, which   they  had  no  opportunity  of  showing  until  such 


WHAT  WE  ALL  FOUND.  255 

wares  began  to  be  made  in  the  last  century.  The  country  home 
had  almost  always  bright  and  beautiful  table  furniture,  and  the 
family  must  have  enjoyed  it  and  lingered  around  it.  Probably, 
on  that  account,  domestic  influences,  home  thoughts,  and  family 
thoughts,  had  more  influence  on  men  in  those  days.  There  can- 
not be  any  force  exerted  on  a  man's  or  a  woman's  mind  by  a  lot 
of  white  crockery  set  out  to  eat  from.  But  a  woman  may  be 
expected  to  retain  and  increase  the  womanly  characteristics  of 
gentleness,  kindness,  and  all  kinds  of  loveliness,  who  has  a  pretty 
tea-service  to  preside  over  every  day,  however  cheap  and  homely 
it  may  seem  to  the  more  wealthy.  And  men  under  the  influ- 
ence of  such  women,  and  such  cheerful  home  associations,  are 
always  better  citizens.  In  fine,  my  experience  in  The  China 
Hunters  Club  has  made  me  almost  ready  to  believe  that  the 
crockery  a  people  use  is  as  powerful  an  influence  as  the  ballads 
thev  sinsr. 


XV. 

HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED. 

I  shrink  from  the  task  now  before  me,  and  wish  that  I  could 
escape  the  dreaded  duty.  It  is  heart-breaking  to  tell  you  how 
our  club  ended.  We  never  speak  of  it  in  Littleville.  It  is  yet 
too  fresh  and  sharp  a  grief  and  shame.  But  it  must  be  written, 
and  I  will  try  to  tell  the  story  as  briefly  and  simply  as  possible. 

We  met  one  winter's  evening  at  Mrs.  Chase's.  How  well  I  re- 
member the  cheery  look  of  the  library,  with  its  blazing  fire  of 
Liverpool  coal,  as  we  gathered  there !  We  had  chosen  no  partic- 
ular topic  for  the  evening.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leavitt  had  just  re- 
turned from  Boston,  and  we  knew  that  they  had  brought  some 
specimens  from  there,  and  hoped  to  hear  of  or  see  them.  We 
had  heard,  too,  that  Sophy  Graves  had  come  into  possession  of 
some  lovely  Spode  china,  and  that  Mary  Dillingham  had  picked 
up  some  nice  pieces  of  Caughley  porcelain,  so  we  were  antici- 
pating a  real  treat.  But  before  we  had  heard  a  word  of  these 
new  acquisitions,  Mr.  Stevenson  entered,  looking  pleased  and  ex- 
cited, and  exclaimed,  "I  have  made  a  wonderful  'find' — a  charm- 
ing set  of  three  old  ( 'hinese  vases,  a  centre  vase  of  one  shape,  and 
two  side  vases  of  another,  as  perfect  as  when  they  left  the  pot- 
ter's hands.  They  came  from  the  Bentley  family,  who  were  all, 
you  know,  in  the  India  trade.  I  have  brought  one  of  the  side 
vases." 

So  saying,  he  proceeded  to  unwrap  his  treasure,  a  cylindrical 
vase,  flaring  at  the  top,  decorated  with  flowers,  and  bearing  the 


31.  Tea-Party  Plate:  page  253. 

[Cream-ware:  blank  priut :  Liverpool.] 


32.  Lowestoft,  or  China  (?) :  page  259. 

[Porcelain  :  hard-paste  :  the  disputed  class.] 

17 


HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED.  259 

initials  of  the  owner  on  an  ermined  shield,  exquisitely  painted. 
(See  111.  32.) 

All  gathered  around  the  table,  and  for  a  few  moments  nothing 
was  said  audibly,  though  it  might  have  been  observed  that  two  or 
three  members,  after  looking  at  the  specimen,  exchanged  glances, 
and  their  lips  were  visible  in  singular  unanimity  of  motion,  as  if 
each  were  whispering  to  herself  or  himself  the  same  word. 

Mr.  Chase,  who  had  taken  up  the  vase  and  examined  it  care- 
fully, was  one  of  these. 

Mr.  Stevenson  saw  the  motion  of  his  lips,  and  recognized  the 
unuttered  word. 

"  '  Low  what,'  did  you  say,  Mr.  Chase  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  anything.  But  why  do  you  call  it  Oriental. 
Isn't  it  somewhat  doubtful  2" 

"  You  thought  Lowestoft,  if  you  didn't  say  it,"  said  Mr.  Ste- 
venson, somewhat  tartly. 

"  Well,  I  did  think  so ;  and  if  there  ever  was  a  Lowestoft  spec- 
imen, that  is  one.  Don't  you  see  how  many  of  the  well-known 
characteristics  it  has  ?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  well  known?"  said  Mr.  Stevenson. 
"  I  was  not  aware  that  the  production  of  hard-paste  porcelain, 
or,  indeed,  any  porcelain  at  Lowestoft,  could  be  considered  well 
known." 

A  chorus  of  indignant  exclamations  arose.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Steven- 
son !  how  can  you  say  so  ?  Why,  I  have  more  Lowestoft  china  in 
my  collection  than  anything  else." 

"All  my  mother's  best  porcelain  Avas  made  at  Lowestoft." 

"Why,  when  I  have  been  china-hunting  in  Connecticut  and 
Massachusetts,  I  am  sure  I  have  often  wished  there  was  no  Lowes- 
toft china,  such  heaps  of  it  has  turned  up  when  I  wanted  Spode, 
Bristol,  and  Chelsea." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Stevenson  !  what  will  you  doubt  next?     Why.  your 


260  HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED. 

own  wife  lias  the  prettiest  Lowestoft  in  the  village — that  lovely 
sel  with  her  grandfather's  initials,  ami  the  brown -and -gold 
border." 

Mr.  Stevenson  bore  these  attacks  bravely.  With  a  contempt- 
uous smile  upon  his  face,  he  stood  motionless  and  silent,  till  the 
voices  ceased,  then  said  : 

"I  was  perfectly  aware,  when  I  made  my  remark,  that  I  should 
bring  upon  myself  a  storm  of  reproach.  Nevertheless,  I  repeat 
my  opinion  that  the  production  of  hard-paste  porcelain  at  Lowes- 
toft is  a  fact  yet  to  be  proved  to  my  satisfaction." 

"  If  any  hard-paste  porcelain  was  made  at  Lowestoft,  I  should 
like  to  know  the  date  of  such  manufacture,"  said  Mary  Dil- 
lingham. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Chase,  "  I  can  tell  you  that.  I  have  Chaffers 
in  my  hand.     lie  says  it  was  in  1 775." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mrs.  Stevenson — "  I  beg  your  par- 
don ;  but  I  think  Mr.  Chaffers  does  not  seem  very  decided  himself 
on  that  point." 

"Oh  yes,  he  is.  I  will  read  it.  Here  it  is,  on  page  814.  lie 
says : 

'It  was  about  the  year  1*7*75  that  hard-paste  was  introduced  at  Lowestoft, 
in  close  imitation  of  Oriental.'  " 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  take  the  book?"  said  Mrs.  Stevenson; 
and  opening  it,  added,  "I  read  on  page  817: 

'The  question  about  hard-paste  porcelain  having  been  made  at  Lowestoft 
is  placed  beyond  dispute  upon  the  best  authority.     It  was  introduced  about 

1*777.'" 

"Is  there  any  other  authority  about  the  date?"  asked  Mrs. 
Leavitt. 
The  library   of  the  club  was  at  once  distributed,  and,  while 


HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED.  261 

members  searched,  the  discussion  between  Mr.  Chase  and  Mr. 
Stevenson  waxed  hotter. 

"  Here  is  an  authority,"  said  some  one.  "  The  Bazaar  Office 
book  on  English  Pottery  and  Porcelain  says  it  was  in  1775." 

"That  is  only  a  repetition  of  Mr.  Chaffers,"  said  Mrs.  Steven- 
son ;  "  that  writer  acknowledges  his  indebtedness  to  Mr.  Chaffers 
for  his  information." 

"  Mr.  Owen,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson,  "  is  an  independent  authority. 
In  his  work  entitled  'Two  Centuries  of  Ceramic  Art  in  Bristol,' 
which  I  have  here,  he  says,  at  page  389  : 

'There  cannot  be  any  doubt  that  hard  porcelain,  vitrified  and  translucent, 
was  never  manufactured  from  the  raw  materials,  native  kaolin  and  petunse, 
at  any  other  locality  in  England  than  Plymouth  and  Bristol.  The  tradition 
that  such  ware  was  made  at  Lowestoft  in  1775  *  *  *  rests  upon  evidence  too 
slight  to  be  worthy  of  argument.  The  East  India  Company  imported  into 
England  large  quantities  of  porcelain  for  sale ;  and  in  the  provincial  journals 
of  the  last  century  advertisements  of  sales  by  auction  of  East  India  china  occur 
frequently.  This  particular  ware,  which  is  very  plentiful,  even  at  the  present 
day,  and  which  has  of  late  acquired  the  reputation  of  having  been  made  at 
Lowestoft,  was  simply,  in  form  and  ornamentation,  only  a  reproduction  by  the 
Chinese  of  English  earthen-ware  models.  The  Chinese  do  not  use  saucers, 
butter-boats,  and  numbers  of  other  articles  after  the  European  fashion,  and 
the  agents  in  China  were  compelled  to  furnish  a  model  for  every  piece  of 
ware  ordered.  These  models  the  Asiatic  workmen  have  copied  only  too 
faithfully.  The  ill-drawn  roses,  the  coarsely-painted  baskets  of  flowers,  the 
rude  borders  of  lines  and  dots,  are  literally  copied  from  the  inartistic  painting 
on  the  English  earthen-ware  of  by-gone  days.  There  is  a  tradition  that  Ori- 
ental ware  was  imported  in  the  white  state,  to  be  painted  in  England.  Be- 
fore giving  belief  to  this  speculation,  it  will  be  necessary  to  consider  how 
singular,  nay,  how  impossible,  a  circumstance  it  is,  that  if  this  unpainted 
china,  was  imported  in  quantities  sufficient  to  constitute  a  trade,  none  of  it 
should  have  escaped  into  private  custody  free  from  that  miserable  deface- 
ment which  has  been  miscalled  decoration.'  " 

"  That  is  absurd  and  ridiculous,"  said  Sophy  Graves.     "  Who 


262  HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED. 

ever  saw  or  heard  of  English  or  any  other  earthen-ware  that 
1. Miked  like  Lowestoft  paintings.     T  don't  care  whether  they  are 

Lowestoft  or  Chinese;  but  none  of  them  look  any  more  like  old 
English  pottery  than  they  look  like  the  Cyprus  vases  in  General 
Cesnola's  collection." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Lee;  "and  it's  nonsense  to  say  the  Chinese 
had  to  get  patterns  of  saucers  from  Europe.  Why,  everybody 
knows  they  made  saucers  before  Bristol  was  taken  by  the  Eng- 
lish. And  the  idea  of  saying  these  disputed  decorations,  what- 
ever they  are,  are  coarsely  painted,  ill-drawn,  and  all  that  kind  of 
talk  !  I  know  a  dozen  pieces  of  Lowestoft,  so-called,  any  one  of 
which  is  prettier  than  any  piece  of  Bristol  porcelain  in  Mr. 
Owen's  book." 

"  That's  what's  the  matter  of  Mr.  Owen,  I  guess,"  said  Charlie 
Baker.  "  He  writes  about  a  particular  factory,  and  I've  observed 
that  men  who  write  up  one  factory  often  write  down  another." 

"  Sharp  for  your  years,  Charlie,"  said  Dr.  Hall.  "  The  fact  is, 
a  good  many  Englishmen  don't  seem  to  want  any  factories  of 
hard-paste  in  England  discovered  to  be  rivals  to  their  wretched 
stuff  from  Plymouth  and  Bristol." 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  "that  some  respect  is  due  to  the 
accurate  account  of  the  peculiarities  of  Lowestoft  china  which 
Mr.  Chaffers  gives  us,  and  which  define  a  class  of  porcelain  which 
must  have  been  made  somewhere.  Other  writers  accept  the  evi- 
dence as  satisfactory  that  hard -paste  was  made  at  Lowestoft. 
Marryat  says,  in  his  edition  of  1868,  and  perhaps  in  earlier  edi- 
tions, that,  after  many  fruitless  inquiries,  he  ascertained  that  the 
Lowestoft  china  manufactory  continued  in  operation  till  within 
forty  years.  The  earlier  porcelain  was  white  and  blue.  He 
says,  too,  that  he  has  a  specimen  tea-cup,  with  a  floral  pattern  in 
French  stj  le." 

"If  the  works  were  in  existence  within  forty  years  of  1868,  or 


HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED.  263 

any  other  edition  of  Marry  at,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson,  "  what  do  you 
make  of  Mr.  Chaffers's  statement  that  they  were  closed  about 
1803?  Authorities  about  both  the  beginning  and  ending-  of  the 
mythical  Lowestoft  are  somewhat  at  loggerheads.  All  that  is 
known  and  written  about  it  may  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words. 
There  is  a  well-known  class  of  Chinese  porcelains.  Some  one 
took  the  notion  that  some  of  these  were  made  in  England.  Ev- 
erybody admits  that  you  can't  tell  which  were  made  in  England, 
and  which  in  China.  No  one  can  tell  one  paste  from  the  other. 
Then  some  one  tried  to  compromise  the  dispute  by  admitting 
that  some  of  them  were  painted  in  England,  but  insisting  that  all 
were  made  in  China.  But  the  trouble  is,  no  one  can  tell  which 
is  which,  by  paste  or  painting.  They  were  all  made  in  China, 
and  all  painted  in  China." 

"  I  think  you  represent  that  too  strongly,  Mr.  Stevenson,"  said 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Wells,  in  a  mild  voice.  "  All  the  writers  seem  to 
unite  in  believing  that  there  are  some  specimens  whose  pastes  are 

unquestionably  not  Chinese.     My  friend,  Mrs. ,  took  a  piece 

from  her  dinner-service,  known  as  Lowestoft,  to  the  Chinese  de- 
partment of  the  Centennial  Exhibition,  and  showed  it  to  one  of 
the  experts  in  porcelains.  She  had  made  his  acquaintance  before, 
and  he  spoke  a  few  wrords  of  English.  When  she  handed  it  to 
him  she  said,  'Here  is  a  piece  of  china;'  and  was  about  to  ask 
him  to  examine  it,  when  he  interrupted  her,  saying,  'No,  no, 
not  China  —  not  China — don't  know  —  maybe  Europe  —  not 
China ;'  and,  on  further  examination,  he  said  decidedly  it  was 
not  a  Chinese  paste.  Now  Mr.  Chaffers  says — will  you  let  me 
take  the  book  a  moment,  Mr.  Stevenson  ? — Here  it  is : 

'  On  some  of  the  Lowestoft  porcelain,  especially  upon  the  very  thick  or 
large-shaped  pieces,  may  be  observed  an  irregular  or  uneven  surface,  as  if 
the  outside  of  the  vessel  had  been  patted  or  beaten  into  shape  by  the  hand, 
or  made  in  a  mould,  and  not  turned  by  the  lathe  like  the  smaller  examples. 


2 64  SOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED. 

This  peculiarity  is  found  on  the  tureens  and  larger  dishes  of  a  dinner-ser- 
vice, which,  being  more  solid,  have  this  superficial  irregularity,  while  the 
plates  and  minor  pieces,  being  thinner,  are  perfectly  smooth.' 

"I  am  sure  we  arc  all  familiar  with  this  peculiarity  of  some 
specimens.  It  is  very  common  even  on  helmet-shaped  creamers, 
and  on  plenty  of  pieces  which  we  have  had  here." 

"Yes,  and  on  plenty  of  undoubted  old  Chinese  bluc-and-white 
wares  that  we  have  had  here,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson.  This  was  a 
strong-  remark,  for  every  one  knew  its  truth.  He  continued:  "I 
don't  myself  believe  that  any  of  the  decorations  ever  were  paint- 
ed at  Lowestoft ;  but  if  they  were,  they  were  painted  on  porce- 
lains brought  out  from  China." 

"  My — dear — sir,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  "  that  idea  is  wholly  unten- 
able. It  has  been  disproved  by  Mr.  Chaffers.  Read  the  state- 
ment which  Mr.  Chaffers  publishes,  signed  by  Abel  Bly,  dated 
November  2d,  1865,  who  says  he  is  eighty-four  years  old,  born 
and  always  resided  in  Lowestoft,  and  that  his  father,  Abel  Bly, 
a  workman  in  the  Lowestoft  factory,  died  when  lie  was  eleven 
years  old.  That  he  '  was  in  the  habit  of  going  daily  to  the  prem- 
ises, and  can  most  positively  affirm  that  no  manufactured  articles 
were  brought  there  to  be  painted,  but  that  every  article  painted 
in  the  factory  had  been  previously  made  there.'  " 

"And  read  what  Mr.  Jewitt  says  about  that  in  his  'Ceramic 
Art  in  Great  Britain,' "'said  Mr.  Stevenson.  "He  says  if  Abel 
Bly's  statement  of  his  own  age  is  true,  he  could  only  have  been 
four  years  old  when  hard-paste  was  made  first  at  Lowestoft,  and 
his  recollections  are,  of  course,  confined  to  the  next  seven  years; 
and  a  boy  from  four  to  eleven,  carrying  his  father's  dinner  to  a 
factory,  is  not  the  best  evidence  about  ceramic  art  and  importa- 
tions of  porcelain  into  England.  Besides,  Mr.  Jewitt  says  that 
Mr.  Chaffers  is  'indebted  to  him  for  nearly  every  scrap  of  infor- 
mation' (about  Lowestoft)  'he  has  embodied  in  his  work.'     And 


HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED.  265 

Mr.  Jewitt  says  the  bowls  called  Lowestoft  'are  mostly  painted 

at  Lowestoft  on  Oriental  body."' 

"I  am  aware  that  he  says  so,  but  he  also  says,  'Some  of  the 
productions  of  the  Lowestoft  works  are  apparently  painted  on 
Oriental  body  ;'  and  he  continues:  '  but  there  are  many  good  ex- 
amples in  existence  where  the  body  is  of  Lowestoft  make  which 
are  of  very  fine  quality.'  And  Mr.  Chaffers  replies  to  him  that 
the  Oriental  body  he  talks  about  is  exactly  the  body  made  at 
Lowestoft.     Mr.  Chaffers  well  says  : 

'  There  is  such  a  peculiarity  in  the  form  and  quality  of  the  Lowestoft  por- 
celain that  we  are  surprised  any  one  at  all  conversant  with  or  accustomed 
to  see  collections  of  china  could  ever  mistake  it  for  Oriental.  We  are  now 
speaking  of  the  body  only;  of  course  the  decoration  is  still  more  conclusive.' " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  bodies  and  pastes,"  said  Mrs. 
Smith  ;  "  but  I  always  think  it  queer  anybody  should  have  any 
trouble  in  picking  out  Lowestoft  decorations.  Now  let  me  have 
Chaffers,  and  see  what  he  says  about  some  of  the  paintings. 
Here  it  is.     He  says  it  was  made — 

'  with  every  variety  of  decoration ;  dinner  and  tea  services,  punch  -  bowls, 
mugs,  etc. :  the  borders  of  these  are  sometimes  a  rich  cobalt  blue,  with  small 
gold  stars.  A  raised  pattern  of  vine-leaves,  grapes,  squirrels,  and  flowers,  is 
very  characteristic  of  the  Lowestoft  hard  porcelain  on  jars  and  beakers,  en- 
closing Chinese  figures  and  landscapes,  which  are  evidently  painted  by  Eu- 
ropean artists ;  the  enamel  colors  are  not  so  brilliant  as  the  Chinese :  vases 
of  flowers  in  red,  marone,  purple,  and  gold,  with  red  and  gold  dragon  handles. 
The  mugs  have  frequently  double-twisted  handles. 

'Any  one  who  has  paid  attention  to  the  ornamentation  on  the  Lowestoft 
china  cannot  fail  to  have  observed  the  peculiar  touch  of  an  artist  who  painted 
the  flowers  upon  it,  especially  the  rose,  which  we  so  frequently  find.  These 
flowers  were  painted  by  Rose ;  and  one  striking  peculiarity  in  his  mode  of 
representing  this  flower  is  the  appearance  of  its  having  been  plucked  from 
the  stalk  and  dropped  upon  the  surface,  the  stalk  being  seldom  represented, 


266  HOW  Till-:  CLUB  ENDED. 

or,  if  at  all,  only  a  slighl  thread-like  line  to  denote  it.     The  leaves  and  other 
flowers  are  similarly  disjointed. 

'The  most  frequenl  (Lowestoft)  is  of  hard-paste  ornamented  with  pink 
roses  large  in  the  centre  of  the  piece,  with  minute  highly-finished  roses  in 
festoons,  and  borders  intermixed  with  ruby  or  claret  color  and  green  leaves. 
But  we  have  also  seen  some  of  very  fine  quality  in  soft-paste,  as  both  were 
made  simultaneously.  The  ornamental  borders  are  exceedingly  rich  on  some 
of  the  latter  specimens,  diapered  with  gold  and  colors,  and  the  marone  trellis 
or  scale  pattern,  like  that  of  Dresden,  frequently  introduced,  and  the  patterns 
in  very  good  taste:  the  more  highly  finished  specimens  usually  have  the 
initials  of  the  persons  for  whom  they  were  made  in  medallions  supported  by 
Cupids,  emblems,  etc.,  or  their  coats  of  arms.'  " 

"  Now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Smith,  let  me  read  to  you  what  Mr.  Owen 
says  on  that  last  point,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson. 

'  It  is  painful  to  see  in  public  and  private  collections  examples  of  Oriental 
ware  labelled  Lowestoft,  simply  because,  though  hard  porcelain,  they  bear 
English  armorial  coats  and  initials.  Many  porcelain  punch-bowls  are  to  be 
found  in  seaport  towns,  with  names  and  portraits  of  ships,  and  very  early 
dates.  These  bowls  are  often  attributed  to  the  works  at  Liverpool  and  Low- 
estoft. The  officers  of  the  East  India  Company's  ships  were  accustomed  to 
take  out  English  Delft  bowls  and  get  them  reproduced  in  common  porcelain 
in  China  for  their  merchant  friends,  and  many  a  relic  now  prized  as  of 
home  manufacture  was  procured  in  this  manner.'  " 

"  Mr.  Stevenson,  I  want  to  ash  you  if  you  ever  heard  anything 
yourself  more  ridiculous  than  that  idea  that  Englishmen  took 
crockery  howls  out  to  China  to  get  them  copied?  If  lie  had 
said  they  took  pictures  out  to  be  painted  on  bowls  it  would  be 
credible,  for  that  they  did.  Bu1  who  ever  saw  an  old  English 
Delft  bowl  and  a  Chinese  reproduction  of  it,  or  who  ever  saw  a 
Chinese  or  a  Lowestoft  bowl  that  looked  like  any  old  Delft  bowl 
in  its  decoration  \  I  think  you  can  always  recognize  the  peculiar 
decorations  which  Mr.  Chaffers  describes." 

"But,  Mrs.  Smith,  just  hear  what  Mr.  Prime  writes  about  some 
of  them,      lie  sa\  s  : 


HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED.  267 

'  There  is  a  large  class  of  porcelains  decorated  with  beautiful  but  generally 
stiff  bouquets,  and  with  vine  borders  in  high  relief,  sometimes  with  small 
animals,  also  in  high  relief,  which  are  Oriental,  and  are  classed  by  some  col- 
lectors as  "Porcelain  of  the  Indies."  These  are  supposed  to  have  been  made 
on  special  patterns  furnished  to  the  Oriental  factories  by  the  East  India  Com- 
panies. They  resemble  European  work  in  the  decoration,  and  many  of  the 
Lowestoft  paintings  seem  to  be  imitations  of  these.  It  is  therefore  neces- 
sary to  be  very  cautious  in  classifying  wares  as  of  Lowestoft  fabric' 

^^  "And  then,  again,  lie  says: 

'  The  presence  of  a  simple  decoration  like  a  flower  or  sprig  of  flowers  in 

European  style  on  a  porcelain,  apparently  Oriental,  is  not  a  sufficient  reason 

1     for  classing  the  porcelain  as  European.     Many  such  pieces  were  painted  in 

Japan  and  in  China.     And  others  are  possibly  the  work  of  decorators  in 

Holland.' 


And  see,  too,  what  Mr.  Elliott  says  in  his  'Pottery  and  Por- 
celain :' 

'  Some  persons  in  this  country  think  that  many  or  most  of  the  dinner  and 
tea  services  ordered  in  the  United  States  during  the  last  century,  and  which 
it  was  supposed  were  made  in  China,  really  came  from  Lowestoft,  through 
Liverpool  or  Bristol ;  among  them  those  sets  which  bore  initials  in  a  sort  of 
shield,  and  were  finished  on  the  edges  with  a  deep-blue  band,  studded  with 
gold  stars.  It  seems  certain  that  this  kind  of  decoration  was  done  at  Lowes- 
toft ;  it  is  equally  certain  that  it  was  also  done  in  China,  from  designs  sent 
out  there.  I  have  myself  some  pieces  so  decorated,  which  were  imported  di- 
rect from  China  to  Xew  Haven  about  the  end  of  the  last  century.' 

"And  again  : 

'  Some  of  the  forms  and  decorations  made  at  Lowestoft  are  so  like  those 
made  in  China  that  it  has  been  almost  impossible  to  distinguish  them.' 

"  Besides,  Mr.  Prime  says  it  is  possible  that  Delft  painters  did 
got  white  Chinese  porcelain  and  paint  it  there ;  and  Mr.  Marrvat 
says,  '  Many  Chinese  pieces  of  porcelain  imported  into  Holland 
were  painted  or  "doctored"  at  Delft,  whence  arose  the  mistake 
of  porcelain  having  been  made  there  from  materials  imported 
from  China.' " 


268  JIOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED. 

"  Eave  you  seen  the  Catalogue  of  Mr.  A.  W.  Franks's  collec- 
tion, lent  for  exhibition  at  the  Bethnal  Green  Museum  in  Lon- 
don ?" 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"Mr.  Franks  says,  'There  can  be  no  doubt  that  there  was  a 
considerable  manufactory  of  porcelain  at  Lowestoft,  but  this  was 
of  the  usual  English  soft-paste.  The  evidence  of  hard  paste  hav- 
ing been  made  there  is  of  the  most  slender  kind.'  Mr.  Franks 
also  says  it  is  possible,  though  he  thinks  it  not  probable,  that  a 
few  specimens  of  white  Oriental  porcelain  may  have  been  deco- 
rated at  Lowestoft.  He  thinks  all  the  stuff  attributed  to  Lowes- 
toft is  '  India  china,'  that  is,  china  made  for  the  East  India  Com- 
panies for  European  trade,  which  Jacquemart  calls  porcelaine  des 
Indes  ;  and  he  says  that  'while  the  "India  china"  has  on  one 
hand  been  attributed  to  Japan,  it  has,  on  the  other,  and  by  a  still 
more  singular  hallucination,  been  ascribed  to  Lowestoft.'  " 

"  Mr.  Franks  is  very  high  authority,  but  I  am  not  quite  sure 
that  the  strong  prejudices  which  collectors  and  students  some- 
times have  in  favor  of  special  schools  of  art  and  localities  of  man- 
ufacture may  not  affect  his  judgment  in  this  matter.  He  de- 
scribes a  great  many  pieces  of  Oriental  body  decorated  in  Europe, 
and  even  goes  so  far  as  to  suggest  a  doubt  as  to  all  the  Worcester 
specimens  with  the  old  square  mark.  Speaking  of  that,  he  savs, 
'This  is  the  mark  often  found  on  Worcester  porcelain.  Possibly 
the  specimens  on  which  it  occurs  arc  Japanese.'  This  mark  is  on 
a  large  class  of  soft-paste  porcelains,  always  heretofore  supposed 
to  have  been  made  at  Worcester,  and  the  lovers  of  old  Worcester 
will  probably  think  Mr.  Franks  quite  too  Oriental  in  his  ideas  of 
pastes." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Davison,  "Mr.  Franks  says  white  porcelain 
was  imported  from  China  and  Japan  to  be  decorated  in  Europe, 
and  he  shows  two  undecorated  specimens  in  his  collection." 


BOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED.  269 

"  Mr.  Franks  speaks  cautiously  on  this  subject,  ray  dear  Mrs. 
Davison.  He  says  it  was  only  imported  on  special  orders  for 
painters.  But  while  he  condemns  the  'slender  evidence'  of  Mr. 
Chaffers  that  hard-paste  was  made  at  Lowestoft,  he  gives  more 
slender  evidence  still  in  support  of  his  assertion  that  it  was  im- 
ported white  for  European  painting.  In  fact,  the  only  evidence  is 
one  little  saucer,  the  solitary  specimen  in  his  large  collection,  which 
he  says  is  Oriental,  and  which  must,  of  course,  somehow  or  other 
have  come  out  of  an  Oriental  factory  and  been  imported  into 
England.  This  solitary  specimen,  by  its  lonesomeness,  in  modern 
collections  rather  stands  as  an  exception  to  show  that  such  impor- 
tations were  practically  unknown.  His  other  specimen  is  deco- 
rated in  blue,  leaving  blanks  to  be  filled  up.  The  wonder  remains 
unexplained  that  white  Chinese  or  Japanese  wares,  without  some 
color  decoration,  are  unknown.  Mr.  Franks's  position  on  the 
Lowestoft  subject  is,  however,  a  sensible  one,  since  he  repudiates 
all  idea  that  any  hard  paste  was  made  there,  and  does  not  think 
it  probable  that  any  was  painted  there.  It  is  safer  to  take  a 
stand  like  that  than  to  admit  any  connection  whatever  between 
Lowestoft  and  hard-paste." 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  the  twisted  handle  on  that  Lowestoft 
mug  of  mine?"  said  Jane  Forsythe. 

"Yes,  deal-,  but  it's  exactly  like  the  handle  of  that  Chinese 
mug  of  mine,  you  know,"  said  Miss  Norton. 

"  Yours  is  not  Chinese,  my  dear ;  it  is  Lowestoft,  I  have  often 
told  you." 

"  I  am  sure,  Mrs.  Johnston,  you  cannot  doubt  that  that  cylin- 
drical teapot  of  mine  with  blue  bands  and  gold  stars,  and  my 
grandfather's  initials  between  two  blue  crescents,  is  English." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Lee,  I  am  sure  it  is  not  English.  It's  exactly  like 
our  old  set  that  has  been  in  the  family  a  hundred  and  forty  years, 
and  was  brought  from  China  lono-  before  the  Revolutionarv  War." 


2V0  SOW   THE  run  ENDED. 

"Mrs.  Johnston,  it's  impossible!  No  one  had  china  in  this 
country  before  the  Revolutionary  War.  It  was  not  known  in 
America  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago." 

"  Mrs.  Lee,  you  have  no  reason  to  doubt  our  family  traditions." 

The  hubbub  increased,  and  individual  discussions  merged  into 
larger  discussions,  two,  three,  four  talking  at  once  on  each  side, 
until  the  entire  club  was  arranged  on  opposite  sides  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  practically  on  opposite  >i<!es  of  the  room,  while  all  were 
talking  vociferously.  Suddenly  Mr.  Chase's  voice  rang  out,  ad- 
dressing Mr.  Stevenson. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  the  evidence  which  Mr.  Chaffers 
furnishes  from  a  distinguished  gentleman?     Hear  what  he  says: 

'  Mr.  King,  of  the  Herald's  College,  writing  to  a  friend,  Says,  "  as  to  there 
not  being  Lowestoft  china,  you  and  I  know,  as  subjects  of  the  king  of  the 
East  Angles,  that  ex-cathedra  antiquaries  are  fools  in  that  respect.  I  have 
known  and  seen  specimens  from  my  earliest  days,  when  I  was  a  Yarmouthian." 

I  am  afraid  Mr.  Chase  read  the  word  "fools"  a  little  louder 
than  the  other  words. 

"Calling  people  fools  is  not  argument,"  said  Rev.  Dr.  "Wells. 

"It's  the  easiest  sort  of  argument  with  those  who  have  no 
sense,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson. 

By  this  time  the  excitement  was  intense.  I  cannot  even  now 
understand  why  it  was  so.  AVe  had  often  had  differences  of 
opinion  among  our  members,  and  warm  discussions  had  many 
times  taken  place,  but — oh,  not  like  this!  Mr.  Stevenson  was 
pale  with  anger,  and  Mr.  Chase  almost  purple.  Dear  old  Mrs. 
Manning,  who  had  never  taken  part  in  our  talks,  but  was  always 
placidlv  interested  in  the  topics  before  us,  grew  dreadfully  ner- 
vous and  frightened.  "Oh,  don't  let  them,  don't  let  them  !"  sin- 
kept  saying  to  those  nearest  her,  as  voices  grew  loud  and  angry. 
"  Oh,  do  give  up,  all  of  you  !     You  are  all  right,  I  dare  say.     Yes, 


HOW  THE   CLUB  ENDED.  27 1 

indeed,  Mr.  Stevenson,  your  vases  were  made  in  China,  every- 
thing was  made  in  China.  Dear  Mr.  Chase,  you  arc  quite  right, 
all  our  specimens  ;:re  Lowestoft;  they  made  everything  there. 
Oh,  do  stop,  do  stop  !" 

Mrs.  Hall  did  not  say  one  word  on  either  side,  but  looked — oh, 
so  very,  very  angry,  her  lips  tightly  set,  and  foot  tapping  the  floor 
impatiently.  But  when  any  one  asked  her  which  view  she  accept- 
ed, she  only  said  through  her  teeth,  "  Oh,  I'm  too  indignant  to 
talk!     I  never  thought  I  should  listen  to  such  opinions!" 

Only  that,  over  and  over  again,  and  she  was  really  trembling 
with  excitement.  But  I  have  no  idea  whether  she  was  for  or 
against  the  Lowestoft  theory.  Sometimes  I  think  she  did  not 
herself  know. 

Charlie  Baker  talked  on  both  sides — he  has  not  a  bit  of  true 
earnestness — and  I  think  he  did  a  good  deal  to  stir  up  matters, 
and  prevent  a  reconciliation.  "  I  always  thought,"  said  he,  con- 
fidentially, to  Mrs.  Leavitt,  "that  your  punch-bowl  was  English, 
and  I  was  surprised  to  hear  from  Miss  Dillingham  that  it  was 
Chinese,  and  comparatively  modern." 

Mrs.  Leavitt  was  speechless  with  horror.  She  is  of  English 
descent,  and  has  always  said  that  her  grandfather,  who  lived  in 
Yarmouth,  brought  this  bowl  from  there  to  this  country.  She 
has  never  spoken  to  Mary  Dillingham  since  that  night.  Then 
Charlie  turned  to  Miss  Lee,  and  whispered,  "  I  hope  Mrs.  Johns- 
ton will  learn  a  few  facts  to-night.  She  is  always  laughing  at 
your  faith  in  that  '  old  Oriental '  teapot  of  yours,  and  say- 
ing that  it  never  saw  China,  'as  any  sensible  person  ought  to 
know.'  " 

"  Mrs.  Johnston's  acquaintance  with  sensible  persons  is  very 
limited  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Lee,  excitedly  ;  "  my  teapot  was  brought 
from  Canton  by  my  great-uncle  in  1815,  and  presented  to  his  sis- 
ter, my  grandmother  Terry.     It  is  purely  Chinese,  both  in  paste 


■2r2  HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED. 

and  decoration,  as  any  one  with  the  very  slightest  knowledge  of 
such  things  could  tell  at  a  glance." 

"No  Lowestoft,  no  Lowestoft!"  quavered  Mrs.  Banks,  almost 

weeping.  "J  low  dreadful  for  them  to  say  Mich  things!  But 
what  could  we  expect?  Dr.  Smith  says  there's  no  place  of  end- 
less punishment  for  the  wicked — I  heard  him  say  it  in  my  dear 
old  father's  pulpit — and  now  doubt  is  thrown  upon  my  blessed 
mother's  cup-  and  saucers,  labelled  Lowestoft, England,  about  1780, 
by  Judge  Wilson  himself,  one  of  the  best  authorities  in  America! 
No  Lowestoft !  oh,  the  scepticism  of  this  age  !" 

Loud  voices  were  now  heard  from  the  corner  where  Mollie  Al- 
lison and  Benny  Hall  had  been  amicably  chatting,  and  soon  Mol- 
lie was  sobbing  audibly,  while  Benny's  red  face  and  angry  tones 
showed  that  his  young  blood  was  up.  "Just  talk  of  something 
you  know,  Mollie  Allison!"  he  cried,  "my  cup  is  Lowestoft,  as 
any  one  but  a  girl  would  know.  Keep  to  your  dolls  and  patch- 
work, and  dry  up  about  kramics,  as  you  call  them  !"  "You're;  a 
hateful,  impolite  boy!"  sobbed  Mollie,  "and  your  cup  is  nothing 
but  a  horrid,  common,  cheap,  Chinese  thing,  and  it's  cracked  too, 
and  I'm — I'm — gla-a-ad — of  it!" 

Just  here  occurred  the  most  unfortunate  accident — for  that  it 
was  an  accident  I  shall  ever  maintain  —  others  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding.  Mr.  Chase,  while  loudly  expatiating  upon  the 
peculiarly  English  character  of  the  decorations  upon  Mr.  Steven- 
sun's  vase,  took  it  from  the  table.  I  suppose  his  hand  was  a  lit- 
tle unsteady — for  he  was  greatly  excited — at  any  rate,  it  slipped 
from  his  hold,  fell  upon  the  floor,  and  was  shattered  into  a  score 
of  pieces. 

Now  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Stevenson  in  a  calmer  moment  would 
never  have  been  so  unjust  as  to  have  thought  this  a  piece  of 
childish  spite,  hut  he  was  so  stirred  up  that  he  was  scarcely  re- 
sponsible for  his  words. 


HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED.  273 

"  A  manly  way  to  clinch  your  arguments !"  he  cried,  sneeringly. 
"  Destroying  in  anger  that  beautiful  CLinese  vase,  treasured  so 
many  years !" 

"  Do  you  accuse  me  of  intentionally  breaking  your  miserable 
English  stuff?"  asked  Mr.  Chase,  fiercely,  as  he  strode  over  toward 
his  enemy. 

His  hand  was  raised — I  own  it — but  only  in  an  emphatic  gest- 
ure, expressive  of  surprise  and  just  indignation  ;  but  Mrs.  Steven- 
son sprang  between  him  and  her  husband. 

"  Do  you  dare  to  lay  your  hands  upon  him,  you — you — !  Oh 
dear,  dear — !"  She  burst  into  tears,  and  sank  sobbing  upon  the 
sofa.  Mrs.  Chase  laughed !  It  was  not  a  nice  thing  to  do,  but 
she  was  a  little  hysterical,  I  think. 

"'Mistress  of  herself,  tho'  china  fall" — she  quoted;  "a  terri- 
ble fuss,  truly,  over  a  Lowestoft  vase,  such  as  is  found  in  nearly 
every  New  England  cottage.  Mr.  Cbase  shall  give  you  a  dozen, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Stevenson,  quite  as  Oriental  looking  as  this  he  has 
accidentally  broken." 

"  'Twas  not  an  accident !"  almost  shrieked  the  sobbing  woman 
upon  the  sofa ;  "  he  meant  it,  and  I  will  never,  never,  never  enter 
this  house  again  !" 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Stevenson,  taking  his  wife  by  the 
hand,  "  we  had  better  be  going,"  and  they  left  the  room.  Others 
followed,  and  the  host  and  hostess  were  soon  left  alone.  Charlie 
Baker  only  lingering  to  whisper  to  me, 

"You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  the  vase  if  you  will, 
But  it  was  made  in  China,  I'll  hang  to  it  still." 

Well,  we  never  met  again.     The  charm  seemed  broken,  the  old 
harmony  destroyed.     I  sometimes  think  that  when  another  win- 
ter comes  the  dear  old  club  may  revive,  but  we  never  speak  of  it. 
The  only  one  of  our  members  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  propriety 

18 


274  HOW  THE  CLUB  ENDED. 

as  to  jest  upon  the  painful  subject  is  Charlie  Baker.  He  has 
gathered  a  cabinet  full  of  such  doubtful  specimens  as  were  dis- 
cussed at  our  last  meeting,  and — to  be  strictly  impartial,  as  lie  says 
— has  labelled  them  thus:  one  piece  he  marks  "  Cantonlowcs- 
toft ;"  the  next,  "  Oriental  body,  decorated  at  Lowestoft ;"  and  yet 
another,  "  Lowestoft  body,  painted  in  China." 


THE    END. 


V 


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